


Disaster Is Such A Harsh Term

by Teland



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampires, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Biting, Blood Drinking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doggirls & Dogboys, F/M, Families of Choice, First Time, Frottage, Gore, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Polyamory, Pregnant Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Telepathy, Training Montage, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9293768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Aramis considers.Looks at the note — no.He tugs his rosary out from under his tunic.He eyes it critically.He says a lengthy, heartfelt prayer, and waits to burst into flame —Or get sucked summarily into Hell —Or — something other than nothing, at all.His heart does not pound.It beats — once — but does not pound.And — he feels confident that this is *not* a disaster. Or — at least not a *complete* one.





	1. Time to reset the Days Since Aramis Done Fucked Up notice board.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanadianGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/gifts), [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Some things are mine, most are not.
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Vague, AU-ized mentions of various things from all three series. 
> 
> Author's Note: As I said to Melly, I wanted to write something so cliche that it was the equivalent of slipping into a hot bath with Kate Bush on the stereo, a phone full of porn, a pull-apart danish on a tray on the floor, and a locked bathroom door. So? You get vampires. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much, much love to Pixie, Melly, Spice, Houndstar, Aleksa, Nonie, and, of course, my Jack, for audiencing, encouragement, helpful suggestions, and laughing at my awful, awful jokes.

There are times when Aramis evaluates — and re-evaluates, and re-evaluates again — the choices he has made. 

Usually, those times occur after some disaster — or several — has also occurred. 

Now... 

Well. 

He is not entirely certain if the night he has just spent with the visiting Swiss comtesse — she has left him utterly alone in her *beautifully*-appointed rooms with just the note in his hands for company — *counts* as a disaster — 

It was a *wonderful* night — 

An *exciting* night — 

Aramis licks his lips —

The taste in his mouth is still...

_Hélène is laughing in her long, pale throat as she draws back from him, as she laps at the *wound* she'd left in *his* throat —_

_Aramis can feel the wound closing, the flesh *knitting* —_

_Aramis had known by her strength, the gleam of her eyes, the chill of her *skin* that she was no normal woman, but this —_

_This is —_

_And there is darkness rushing in from every direction, occluding his vision and stealing the sight of her —_

_Her red lips —_

_Her sharp teeth —_

_Her blue, blue eyes —_

_He reaches for her —_

_He does not know if he is truly *moving* —_

_And it occurs to him, much too late, that he can die in this soft, rich bed — all for the sake of a tumble._

_He thinks of his brothers —_

_He thinks of his *Captain* —_

_His Porthos and his —_

_He cannot *fail* them, he cannot —_

_"Little soldier boy. This is what you think as the darkness falls...? Mm. It is always so fascinating to see these things. To *know* them, and hold them, and *keep* them... well. Perhaps I'll keep you, too..."_

_And she bends back down and opens a wound on her *own* throat —_

_He doesn't understand — and then he does and he's terrified, so *frightened* —_

_He can't —_

_But his body is already using its last reserves of energy, he's *lunging* —_

_*Battening* —_

_Her gasp is the same as when he'd entered her with his *cock* —_

_He grips her and *sucks* —_

_His flagging cock fills and *aches* —_

_She grips *him* and *laughs* — "Take more. *Feast*, little soldier boy. Little *Aramis*. You have to be strong for your new life..."_

_And the words don't make sense, he won't *let* the words make sense, everything is just the sweet, powerful, *thrumming* taste in his mouth, so wild, so *rich* —_

_Everything is Hélène's cool hand where he needs it *most*, and he's fucking it, fucking it *rudely*, sucking her *down* and —_

_Getting stronger._

_Getting *drunk* —_

_Getting so —_

_So needy and —_

_He *bites* her —_

_She *howls* like a *beast* —_

_And he spends himself, aching and groaning and drooling and leaking her blood from the corners of his mouth, messy and needy, licking it up just as fast, slurping it up, lapping and —_

_He needs it all, he needs it —_

_He's still spending —_

_He's still —_

_There's so much coming *out* of him —_

_And then the darkness comes rushing back —_

_"Time to sleep, little soldier boy..."_

_Her *laughter* comes rushing back —_

Aramis had awakened in an entirely different bedroom, naked, with his leathers hanging neatly in an open armoire. His weapons were arranged just as neatly, waiting for him. 

His body had been washed thoroughly — and perfumed quite tastefully. 

His body had been — 

There had been a *note* — 

And, when he'd dressed and gone to examine the bedroom they *had* been in, it was... worse than a charnel house. Much, much worse. 

It looked — and smelled — like a man had died *extremely* messily, and — no. 

There are certain things that *need* to be considered. 

In depth. 

The fact that he hasn't taken a breath other than to smell the perfume on himself and then the fouled bedroom. 

The fact that he is no warmer than any of the furnishings. 

The fact that he is... hungry. 

Aramis licks his lips. 

Last night *could* have been a disaster. 

Possibly. 

Aramis considers. 

Looks at the note — no. 

He tugs his rosary out from under his tunic. 

He eyes it critically. 

He says a lengthy, heartfelt prayer, and waits to burst into flame —

Or get sucked summarily into Hell — 

Or — something other than nothing, at all. 

His heart does not pound. 

It beats — once — but does not pound. 

And — he feels confident that this is *not* a disaster. Or — at least not a *complete* one. 

It — 

He picks up the note again. 

He reads it. 

New life, yes, yes, some difficulties adjusting at first, all right, but *what* — 

Ah. 

He's going to have to start drinking human blood. 

Well. 

Well...

He pauses. 

Licks his lips. 

Eyes his crucifix — 

*Considers* —

*Deeply* —

He says another prayer, even more heartfelt this time, and he gets down on his knees, and he — 

Still no flames. 

Still no devils carrying him off. 

Still no swallowing — all right. 

*If* he can assume that he has not automatically become a creature of filth and darkness and evil — and clearly he has not! — *then* he must have some... leeway, within this new life. Yes?

Yes. So. 

He picks up the note again — he does not have to *murder* the people he drinks. Hélène does, in fact, advise against this!

Well! That says it all, does it not?

We are all made in God's image; and the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are all one; and when we take communion we drink the blood of the Christ, so surely when we drink the blood of any human we are drinking His blood!

Right?

Yes.

Definitely.

And, judging by the length of Aramis's teeth in his mouth, it's time to test this theory.


	2. It takes time to learn new skills.

Judging by the exceedingly pale dead man dangling loosely — flopping, really — in Aramis's grasp — it may be time for a better theory. 

He had not been able to make much of a plan to *refine* a hunt, but he had thrown himself into Paris's darkest back-alleys until he'd found someone in need of killing. This had *not* taken long on a Saturday night — the woman this man *had* been accosting had thanked him very sweetly for yanking him off of her before running off — 

But. 

His head had been turned.

His carotid had stood *out*, thick and *pulsing* — 

And this is all Aramis remembers before the *hot* blood was coursing into him, filling him, *giving* him what he *needed*!

So thick, so wonderful, so *perfect* — the man was even healthy! And he'd been able to *taste* that, to *feel* that!

Well, he'd been healthy until Aramis had gotten to him. 

Which is the problem. 

Aramis sighs and drops the body, after savaging the throat to make it look like animals had been at it. 

He distinctly *remembers* telling himself to stop after the man had lost consciousness. 

Or at least after the man had stopped twitching. 

Or —

Aramis sighs again, and pulls out Hélène's *note* again. It is not so difficult to read by moonlight, anymore: 

He may find it *difficult* to *control* himself at first — oh, truly, Hélène? Are you *certain*?

He is to *practice*. 

Practice?

Practice *eating* people?

Aramis frowns. 

Considers. 

Tucks the note away and pulls out his rosary. 

The Saviour seems especially tortured by the light of the moon, so Aramis turns Him a little — there. That's better. 

Perhaps... it's not communion. 

The dead rapist at his feet surely wasn't made in any *loving* god's image! But then... what?

What could he be?

If he is to do this more than *once* per *night*... 

Aramis licks his lips — this is easier to do now that his teeth are not trying to stab everything in *range*, including himself — and considers the prospect of being... something like an avenging angel, working here, on earth, to punish the wicked and bring justice to the meek and suffering and — hm. 

There had been no candles lit in Hélène's rooms. 

At *any* point. 

His flint and steel had been *missing* this evening. 

He... 

There is a torch burning at the door of the inn beyond this alley. 

It is, simultaneously, the brightest thing in Aramis's world and the most awful.

The most dangerous. 

The most *ominous*. 

Aramis... takes the note out again. 

He is to avoid flame. 

He is to avoid sunlight. 

He is to avoid having his head chopped off and then having the two parts of his body tossed onto a pyre. 

He — 

Hélène makes her point in several other gruesome ways. 

She goes on well onto the other side of the page. 

One gets the sense that she doubts Aramis's intelligence, for some reason. Hm. 

But! 

The important thing is that the prospect of being an avenging angel, sword aflame and — so on — is not for him. 

At least not literally. 

He will think more. 

And practice.


	3. We all need to indulge ourselves, from time to time.

There is a dead footpad in his arms who really was delicious. 

Just —

His blood had had a certain rough piquancy — 

Aramis sighs. 

And savages him.


	4. The first step...

There are three dead drunks at his feet, and Aramis feels a bit overfull. 

And... is rueful the word he wants to use? At this point? 

They had been bullying two young boys, and the part of Aramis which will *always* be *trapped* in school had — 

Well — 

He doesn't need to savage these men. 

They're already — 

And Aramis's leathers are — 

Aramis covers his face. 

He has a problem. 

He is not yet willing to call last night a *disaster* — 

But — 

He has a very, very big problem. 

It's time to call for help.


	5. Good instincts, Aramis.

He hasn't made it within two *blocks* of the Captain's rooms before there's a glowing sword at his throat and two *gleaming* blue eyes *glaring* at him. 

Aramis remembers Hélène's admonishment to avoid getting beheaded by angry witches who would then set you ablaze, but mostly — he is blinking. 

"*Captain*?"

The Captain — *Treville* — snarls like a *dog*. "Aramis. What the *hell* did you get into *this* time." 

"I..." Aramis licks his lips and smiles ruefully. "Sir, I suspect you know that better than I do —" 

"You're *drenched* in other people's *blood*, man!" 

"Not... nice people?" 

"*Aramis*!"

Aramis winces and shrugs, careful of that glowing sword-tip. The rapier itself has the miasma of *death*. "I was coming out of Madame Sophie's when a carriage pulled up. The coat of arms was Swiss gentry. She was a comtesse, and beautiful —" 

"And you followed your cock. I — fucking *hell*. Did you not *notice* the cold skin? The sharp teeth? The fact that she could *lift* the carriage *and* the horses?" 

Aramis winces again. "I..." 

"You *did* notice, but you were too randy to pay attention to your own fucking *rosary*?" And now Treville is *incredulous*. 

"Perhaps... we could have this conversation with fewer blades aimed at sensitive areas?" 

"How *many* people did you kill tonight, Aramis." 

"Ah... a few?" 

Treville *looks* at him. 

Aramis takes a breath — Treville *smells* like an angry dog, like faintly-acrid sweetness and *dangerous* excitement. 

Of course, *Aramis* smells like — well. 

He sighs. "Five, sir. I — Hélène said, in the note she left me, that I should... practice. Until I found my control." 

"Give me the note." 

"Yes, sir," Aramis says, and hands it over. 

Treville scans it at speed — without taking his sword from Aramis's throat — 

It's tempting to try to use the *speed* he'd discovered he has now to — 

"Don't even think about it," Treville says. 

Right.

Treville sighs and hands the note back. "Well. I don't have anything much to add." 

"No?" 

"No. Except that you have all the self-control of *Athos* in a *wine cellar*." And Treville shakes his head and sheathes his blade — 

"Thank you — I mean — *sir* —" 

"You need a partner." 

Aramis blinks more. "... what?" 

"When I allowed you to enlist, son, I did so with the knowledge that I would not *ever* allow you on a mission unless and until I had built a unit around you which would complement your frankly amazing talents, skills, and abilities —"

"Oh — thank you, sir —" 

"*Shut* it."

"Yes, sir!" 

"A unit which could *both* do that and be able to *contain* you *when* you up and did something fucking *insane* and *idiotic* at the same fucking *time*." 

"I..."

"I have built that unit. You? Are going to utilize it to the fullest possible extent." 

"But — they must — I cannot live in the *daylight*, sir!" 

"No, you can't," Treville says, and shows his — suspiciously sharp — teeth. "You boys are going to have a lot of night missions. Now. Where are you bedding down?"


	6. He's wanted to tuck you in for a while, Aramis.

The answer to that question turns out to be under several blankets in Treville's cellar. 

The blankets smell like Treville when he is *not* angry, and this is shockingly soothing, comforting, *easing* — 

Treville laughs from just beyond the blankets. "Yes, scent is going to be a *lot* more important to you now, son." 

And Aramis *realizes* that he's been sniffing obviously, like an *animal* — "Oh — I didn't mean —" 

"Shh. It's all right. I sniff you boys all the time." And Treville sighs — 

Aramis's sense of the space the man is taking up changes — had he crouched?

And then there is a hand on Aramis's chest. 

"Sir?"

"I was hard on you out there." 

"I — did very stupid things —" 

"Yes, you did, but if I told you about some of the *mind*-numbingly stupid things I did when I was your age, you'd wonder how I survived."

Aramis blinks. "Sir?" 

"Just this, son: One of the reasons I *did* survive, albeit rather *altered* from how I started life? Is because I leaned on my friends. My *brothers*. I'm counting on you to do the same." 

"I — I do not know how to ask for —" 

"You're not asking. You're being their brother. Their *family*. Families need each other sometimes, son. Families don't *work* unless each and every member gives each and every *other* member *what* they need." 

Aramis blinks under the blankets — 

He wishes he could see Treville's *eyes* — 

He wishes...

"Mm? What is it, son? I can tell that you're troubled." 

"I... it is dawn, sir." 

"That it is. Are you feeling any... ill effects?" 

"No, no. I am simply somewhat tired — more tired than I should be, after so little exercise, but Hélène told me to expect this —" 

"That she did. What's *wrong*," Treville says, and presses down on Aramis's chest a little. 

He smells... worried. 

He smells loving and caring and worried and Aramis had not known! 

He had not *known*, and — 

"Aramis..." 

Aramis forces himself to *stop* gulping breaths. "You smell... very good." 

"Hm. Let's see if I can work this out on my own." 

"Sir —" 

"You're thinking about being stuck here all day while I and your brothers are at the garrison — and you're feeling your life slip away from you." 

Aramis flinches, under the blanket — 

"You're feeling your *world* slip away from —" 

"*Sir* —" 

"Shh. It isn't. It's all still there." 

"I —" 

"It's all. Still. There." 

"But —" 

"Tomorrow night, your brothers *will* be right here —" 

"They must rest!" 

"And they will. On my orders." Treville presses *hard* on Aramis's chest. "I would never let you go so easily, son. And neither would your brothers." 

"This... is easy?"

Treville growls a laugh. "I'll tell you stories sometime, son. Now... rest." 

Aramis laughs softly. "I do not usually lie abed all day without *company*, sir." 

"You bring your paramours to dusty cellars, Aramis? No wonder you go through so many of them." 

Aramis *coughs*.

Treville hums and *rubs* his chest. "You won't be wakeful much longer. I'll stay right here." 

*Shit* — "You do not —" 

"Shh. Let me tell you about the time Kitos and Reynard had to save me from being strung up by some *incredibly* displeased farmers, their neighbours, and the local priest." 

"I. You. *What*?" 

"Well, you see, the farmers in question weren't happy about the fact that I'd buried my cock — and my *knot*, in case you hadn't guessed about that...?" 

Aramis *chokes* — 

Coughs more — 

"Ah..." 

"Yes?" 

"Did you bury those things in their wife and mother?"

Treville laughs evilly. "No. I'd spent a lovely — and *lively* — afternoon with their fourteen-year-old son and brother." 

"My God. Sir!" 

"Yes...?" 

"I — I — you — I have no idea what to say!" 

"Express your heartfelt *sympathies* that I had to give things like that *up* when it became *abundantly* clear that I was the only possible candidate to replace Laurent as Captain." 

"Laurent — Athos's late father." 

"That's right." Treville sighs. "My *other* brother. I'll always miss him." 

Hm. "How *much*?" 

Treville hums. "Enough that I'm *not* telling those tales to the man seeing Laurent's son in mere hours." 

"*God*!"

Treville — snickers like a boy. 

"*Sir* —" 

Treville keeps snickering. 

"Sir, you are — you are —" 

"An arse...?" 

"I... would not say that?" Much — 

"You absolutely should, son. It's the *truth*." 

"I —" And Aramis yawns hugely, blinking and — not tearing. Not... 

But, all of a sudden, Treville's voice is coming to him from a great distance, and the weight of his hand is the only solid thing —


	7. The gnawing means it's working, Athos.

There is something wonderful in the dark. Something sweet, spicy — 

Sharp and strong — 

Just what he wants, just what he — 

Oh, but it's *outside* the dark!

He must go to it, he must — 

"Hm. You did not mention that he would gnaw on us, sir." 

"Technically, mate, he's gnawing on *you*." 

And that — 

Wait. 

Those were Athos's and Porthos's voices — 

And there is something in his mouth — 

And he is *Aramis* — 

And it's possible that he'd had something of a disaster, because he is *licking* Athos's *wrist* —

And gnawing on it. 

He stops that. "I —" 

"I will say," Porthos says, from the other side of Aramis's nest of Treville-scented blankets, "you do smell quite delicious tonight, brother." 

Athos *looks* at Porthos. 

"What? I didn't tell you to wear that perfume to cover all the brandy fumes." 

Athos pinches the bridge of his nose — stops that, and then dabs at his wrist with his handkerchief. 

Treville clears his throat. "Are we all good and awake, gentlemen?"

"Yes," Athos says. 

Porthos looks at *him* — 

*Checks* on him the way he always does — 

As if nothing has *changed* —

"I am awake," Aramis says, and clears his throat. "And I apologize, Athos —" 

"*Was* it my perfume?" 

"Ah... no." And Aramis winces. 

Athos raises an eyebrow in obvious question. 

Porthos raises *two* — 

And Treville... is looking at him. 

*Urging* at him. 

Aramis is supposed to lean on his brothers, and be honest with them, and — right. 

Aramis wishes, very much, that he were wearing more than just his breeches right now. Still — he has been in more uncomfortable situations. Right? He licks his lips and looks to Athos again. "I believe... that I wanted a drink. Of... alcohol." 

Athos blinks once. 

Porthos *guffaws* — 

Treville... hides a smile behind a stroke of his beard and a turn of the head. *Badly*. 

Aramis sighs. "I — will try very hard —" 

"Say, Aramis, if I drink as much as Athos, will you finally gnaw on me?" And Porthos grins and waggles his eyebrows and Porthos is himself. 

Except that he hasn't *said* anything like that in nearly a *year*. 

He had *stopped*, because Aramis had *refused* him out of *foolish* caution, fear of losing his new place among the Musketeers, and — 

And Aramis had thought Porthos had stopped wanting. 

Stopped *waiting* —

And now, in this moment, Aramis can only stare, slack-jawed and *stupid*, as the beautiful smile on Porthos's face... fades. 

Fuck — "Porthos —" 

"Oh — shit. I'm sorry, Aramis, you've *got* to be having a hard time of it, and there I go making you uncomfortable —" 

"No! No, it's — it's all right!" 

Porthos blinks — 

Athos's *eyebrow* is up again — 

And Treville has 'wandered' to a far corner of the cellar. Fine. Fine. 

"I... we should not... censor ourselves. Around each other," Aramis says, and waits for his face to heat with the blush which *must* come. He — 

The blush *does* come, but... only slightly. 

He can *feel* that it's slight — 

He frowns and reaches up to touch his own cheek — 

"Aramis?" Athos moves closer. "What's wrong?" 

"I... was expecting to blush more for that statement." 

"Blood-drinkers don't blush very much, at all. No matter how much they glut themselves," Treville says, helpfully. 

"Right, how do you *know* so much about all this, sir?" And Porthos turns to look at him. "I know you told us you were a witch, but it's not like you've been a full-*time* witch for all these years." 

Treville smiles ruefully. "No, I haven't, son. But I've gotten a lot of education from a lot of sources — for a lot of reasons. And I've spent a great deal of time killing undead individuals who are, shall we say, less *benign* than our Aramis." 

"Uh. When did you retire from *that*?" 

"You're assuming a lot with that statement, son," Treville says, showing his teeth — and letting his eyes gleam. 

Porthos grins and snickers. "You're such a *hard* man, sir. But fine, you've got the education. You'll be able to help Aramis. That's all I really needed to know," Porthos says, and turns back to smile at *him*. 

Athos nods and does the same — 

"So we're not to censor ourselves around each other anymore, Aramis?" 

"I — no. Please." 

"All our thoughts, all our feelings — right out in the open?" 

Aramis stares into Porthos's dark eyes — 

His beautiful — 

Fuck — "Yes. Please." 

Porthos inhales *sharply* — 

Aramis realizes he can smell Porthos's musk, Porthos's arousal, Porthos's *heat* — 

For *him* — 

He *knows* it's for him!

"Say, Aramis..." 

"Yes?" 

"Does Athos get a vote?" 

Aramis *coughs* a laugh — 

"I am, as you might expect, deeply interested in the answer to this question," Athos says, and, when Aramis turns to look at him, he's smiling at both of them wryly. 

"You still smell like exactly the thing with which to start an evening out — ah. I did not mean to say that." 

Athos smiles *meanly*. "Even though we're not to censor ourselves, Aramis...?" 

"Hm. Then I *did* mean to say that. I meant precisely — Captain —" 

"No, you can't practice biting your brothers, yet. I would be very sad if I had to stab you with my cursed rapier." 

"Yee —" 

Porthos chokes — "Your bloody *what*?" 

Treville smells *panicked* for some reason — "Ah... long story." 

Porthos frowns — 

And Athos has a look of consternation on his face. "This all says that I'm going to have to drink less to help *Aramis* learn control." 

Treville smiles *viciously* — 

And Porthos clasps Athos's shoulder and shakes him a little. "Steady on, mate. The oceans of liquor will still be there once we've got Aramis on his feet." 

Athos's expression is pinched. "What *are* we doing to help that along?" 

"Murdering people," Treville says, and finally walks back over to join them. 

"Uhh..." 

"I thought..." 

Athos, because he is Athos, refuses to grace that statement with more than an eyebrow raise. 

Treville smiles fondly at him before turning to take in all of them. "You're all going to *try* not to let Aramis murder people, but I strongly suspect that, at first, you're going to fail. He's stronger and faster than you, and, when the blood-lust is on him, he's absolutely bestial. When he came to me last night, his leathers looked like he'd *waded* through a charnel house. They're absolutely unrecoverable." 

"Oh." 

"Fuck..." 

Aramis *winces* — 

"Exactly," Treville says. "The good news is that he will not turn on either of you. There's frankly no way to tell how a given blood-drinker will go before they wake up the first time, but our Aramis never once tried to kill anyone who didn't richly deserve it —" 

"Are you certain of that, sir." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

"*Athos* —" 

"Porthos. We must be —" 

"He's our *brother*. And *he's* the bloody *Captain* —" 

"It's all right, gentlemen. I made sure to give Aramis several chances to attack — chances he would've *had* to take if he were truly lost to us — and he took none of them." Treville smiles ruefully. "He was himself. Covered in *gore* — but himself." 

"Well," Porthos says. "You have to admit that's not bloody *new*, Athos." 

Athos shrugs with just his facial muscles. 

Aramis — breathes. 

With everyone slightly agitated, it's easier to do. 

And — "*How* do you suggest my brothers — try to — stop me?" 

"Any and every way that occurs to them, son. They know you *better* than I do. They *know* what pulls you up short — and what doesn't. I expect them to use all tools at their disposal until they find the right ones. *All* the right ones." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. 

Athos raises an eyebrow at Treville. "And, in the meantime, murder... discriminately?"

Treville shows his teeth again. "You boys have a gift for that. Now go on. Moonlight's wasting."


	8. No training montage starts well.

Porthos looks down at the body of the dead footpad Aramis has just finished savaging. He frowns. "I really did think the _Kyrie eleison_ would work." 

Athos nods thoughtfully. "All the... Jesus of it. And so on." 

"I said it really loudly and everything." 

"You were quite passionate, yes. It obscured the man's death throes nearly entirely." 

Aramis sighs. "I... perhaps I should have mentioned..." 

Athos looks at him. 

Porthos nudges the body with the toe of his boot, *then* looks at him. "Yeah, brother?" 

"I... have not... felt. Ah... anything." And he lifts his rosary out of his tunic. "From... this. Or related things." 

Athos looks at him... louder. 

Porthos looks at him — 

Well — 

Aramis winces — 

"That's a big sodding thing not to sodding *mention*, brother!" 

"I —" 

"Aramis. What else haven't you mentioned." 

"Nothing!" 

Athos's look is more of a shout at this point. 

Porthos's look is designed to pull the truth out of Aramis by main *force*, but — 

"Truly, there is *nothing* —" 

"*Aramis*," Porthos says again, and rests his hands on Aramis's shoulders — it really was good of the Captain to send for Aramis's backup set of leathers, for all that they're somewhat worn in places, and — 

And Porthos is kicking the body out from between them. 

Aramis helps — 

"Right, thank you. Now. Aramis. You just told us that you — *you* — are not feeling your *god*. That He's not bloody *speaking* to you anymore." 

"He — it was always, really, more of a guiding knowledge —" 

"Right, all right, but — you have to see what I'm saying here, brother." And Porthos's eyes are serious, and dark, and beautiful, and Aramis cannot kiss him while his mouth tastes like blood. 

He — 

"Aramis...?" 

"I apologize — I — I do know what you're saying. It's been... difficult. To keep my focus." 

"You've found it difficult to stay focused on the loss of your connection to *God*, Aramis...?" And Athos's *voice* is quiet, but his eyebrow is an *exclamation*, and — 

It should be. 

It should be. 

Aramis sighs — 

Kisses his crucifix — 

And tucks it away. "It has been... soothing to tell myself that the lack of any reaction of any kind meant that, at least, there were no *negative* reactions to be concerned about." 

Athos nods thoughtfully. 

Porthos winces. "Brother..." 

"No, no —" 

"*Aramis*. Don't pretend this isn't hurting you." 

Aramis blinks — 

And Athos cups his arm firmly. "Stay with us for this. Please." 

"I am here —" 

"You've *needed* us to share this with you," Porthos says. "You've needed us to share religion with you a lot more than we *have* —" 

"I still do!" 

Porthos frowns and searches him — 

"I — I will not see myself *lost*!" 

Athos inhales sharply and squeezes his arm *hard* — 

And Porthos's eyes are wide for long moments before he cups the back of Aramis's head and pulls him in — 

He kisses Aramis's cheek. 

He. 

"Porthos —" 

"You're not lost, brother. You're absolutely right." 

"I. I..." 

"We will find a different method," Athos says, and that was an *order* — 

"Too right," Porthos says, and kisses his other cheek before pulling back. "Lead us to your next snack, brother." 

Aramis blinks — 

And blinks — 

And follows orders.


	9. We all have our weak points.

Aramis stares down at the hostler who had been beating his stableboys — 

Well. 

He stares down at what's left of him. 

He sighs. 

Porthos is dabbing at Aramis's leathers with a handkerchief, but — 

He sighs more. 

Athos comes closer, stepping over the hostler's left arm. "I was truly certain that that would work." 

Porthos peels the hostler's ear off Aramis's belt with a grimace — "I think that's about all I can do, and — did you, brother?" 

"Well... the prospect of a carriage full of young, beautiful noblewomen —" 

"With a thrown wheel, yet, yeah —" 

"And in such a difficult neighbourhood..." 

Aramis sighs again. 

His brothers look at him. 

Porthos looks at his *abdomen* — 

Pats it — 

"Hunh." 

Aramis blinks. "What? What is it?" 

"You're really not... full. I mean, I'd expect after two big meals like that, you'd be a little..." 

"Distended?" 

"Yeah, that's the word, Athos, thanks," Porthos says, and pats Aramis's belly a little more — 

And prods — 

"You're not even sloshing." 

"He's not a *wineskin*, Porthos." 

"Yeah, but — " 

Aramis — sighs. 

"Oi! You're not getting down in the doldrums, are you?" And Porthos stands straight and cups Aramis's shoulders again — 

Then pulls back and frowns at his bloodied hands — 

Then shrugs and *grips* Aramis's shoulders. "It's all *right*, brother. We'll figure this out." 

"It's not that. I have faith that the two of you will find a solution!" 

"Oh. Yeah?" 

"Yes," Aramis says, and smiles ruefully at both of them. "It is only..."

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

"I might have missed a carriage of beautiful *women*." 

"Aw —" 

Athos rolls his eyes and walks away — 

Porthos smacks the back of his head. "Let's *go*."

They do just that.


	10. Sure, we can call it shock.

There is a moaning, groaning, shuddering, bleeding, *erect* footpad in Aramis's arms. 

He is not dead. 

He is not *feeding* Aramis. 

This is because Athos is — there. 

Beside him.

Pressed *close* — 

Whispering in — 

"— then, perhaps, I will allow you to suck my — hm. I see that my tack has worked." 

"*Athos*. *I*!" 

"Or has it?"

"It worked! It *worked*!" 

"It certainly worked on *me*," Porthos says, and *adjusts* himself in his *trousers* — 

Athos blushes — but doesn't turn away from Aramis. "Are you capable of releasing your prey?"

Aramis drops the footpad.

The footpad giggles and continues to bleed. 

He seems to be attempting to masturbate himself — no, no. "Athos, *what* —" 

"I was attempting to shock you away from your... meal. It appears to have worked, so I believe we may call this particular tactic a success." 

"Again, I would like to state that it was a success for *me*, Athos —" 

"Porthos, now is not the —" 

"Athos..." 

And Athos... stops. He stops. But he doesn't — quite — meet Aramis's eyes again, not even in the uncertain light. 

And Aramis believes he knows why. 

Aramis... had smelled a lie on Athos, when he'd said he was trying to shock Aramis. 

Or... a partial lie?

Aramis licks his lips —

"Yeah, brother, you missed a few spots there," Porthos says, handing him his ruined handkerchief. "Usually you're better at getting the stuff around your mouth." 

"Hm," Athos says. "It might be because the individuals in question are usually bleeding *into* his mouth, as opposed to around it." 

"Oh, yeah, that makes — oh, damn." 

"What — oh. Damn." 

Aramis looks down... at the dead footpad. 

He sighs. 

He picks him up. 

He savages him. 

He drops him again. 

Porthos dabs at his face. "So, we're calling that a partial success?" 

"Yes, I think so. We'll try shocking him again —"

"And can I just say —" 

"*No*." 

Porthos snickers. "Right. *I'll* shock him, next time. Somehow." 

Aramis had never thought he could dread a meal — or his reaction *to* a meal — more than he dreads absolutely everything about Tripe Day at the garrison, but...

Life is change.


	11. We can't call that shock.

"... apparently, you're not even a little surprised that I'm hot for Treville —" 

"No one is, Porthos." 

"Shut it, those secrets are very dear to my heart and also that rapist is looking a little peaked —" 

"Try harder." 

"Right, well, here it is, Aramis: I've been in love with you practically since we met —" 

Aramis groans and shudders — 

Porthos must not stop *talking*!

He bites *deeper* — 

"Do you think that's a... sign, mate?" 

"I... have no idea..."

"Well, I'll keep going. Aramis, you told me you didn't like men, so I stopped floating those offers past you, made myself stop flirting, but I *want* you. I *dream* about you. I toss myself *off* thinking about you — and about all of us together, you know, Athos and Treville —" 

"You." 

"Mm?"

"No, keep going, his hands are shaking." 

"Shit, yeah, they are — uh. I have this fantasy where Treville is, you know, *directing* the three of us —" 

"My God — don't stop." 

"Right you are," Porthos says, and leans close, but doesn't actually *whisper* when he says, "You're on your hands and knees on a nice, big, comfortable bed, Aramis. You're naked. Sweaty. *Flushed*. I've got you by the hips. I'm hard as *stone*. Dripping for you. Athos is *slowly* feeding you his cock, and whenever you try to lunge for more — you're *hungry* for it, *needy* for it — Treville orders Athos to take your treat away again —" 

Athos makes a garbled noise — 

There is blood leaking out of the corners of Aramis's *mouth* — 

He is so hard, so very *hard* — 

Porthos must not *stop* — 

"Aramis..." 

Please, please, please, *please* — 

"Aramis. I think. I think you can let that man go now..."

Aramis groans and shudders and *throws* the rapist to the ground. 

He bounces. 

Especially his head. 

The angle it lands in...

"Right, well —" 

"Partial success," Athos says, and he sounds breathless. 

"Indeed," Porthos says, and dabs at the blood on Aramis's face — 

"Don't — *don't* —" 

"Shh, easy, 's all right," Porthos says, and crowds Aramis against the wall to finish wiping the worst of the blood away, just as if — 

Just as if — 

"I think..." And Porthos sighs and looks at him. 

Into him, in the waning moonlight. Aramis can't help but look back, study, *breathe* — 

And breathe in Porthos's musk. 

And Athos's, too. 

He licks his lips — 

"Yeah, do that," Porthos says, and dabs at his cheeks — 

"I — yes, Porthos." 

"I think... we all know you could've dropped that arsehole faster. And less violently. Yeah?" 

Aramis finishes licking his lips clean — and looks down. "Yes, Porthos. I —" 

"Don't apologize. He wasn't a person. We *barely* stopped him from — well. That little girl will go home safe tonight, thanks to us, and *lots* of little girls will go home safe from now on, thanks to *you*." 

"I —" 

"Shh. Don't talk yet," Porthos says, and kisses Aramis's forehead.

Aramis shivers and nods. 

"You wanted me to keep talking. You wanted to hear what I had to *say*. You... maybe you've been craving it a little?" 

Aramis nods again. He has not been told to speak. 

Porthos growls and pushes a hand into Aramis's hair. His musk is *rising* — "It's like that, love? You maybe want me... to take you over a little?" 

*Fuck* — 

How can he even *ask* after letting Aramis *watch* him turn woman after woman into sweating, mewling, groaning, *giggling* *wrecks*? But — 

Aramis nods again. *Fervently*. 

"Did you have to think about that?" 

He shakes his *head* — 

"Mm. No...? You were thinking about what you wanted, maybe?" 

He nods fervently again.

And the heat of Porthos — 

His musk and need and *sweat* — 

"Aramis... want you to taste me. Want you to taste me in every way you *can*." 

Aramis looks *up* — 

"Yeah, you're shocked. But Treville *told* us that you only really need a *little* blood to survive — to *thrive* and be *strong*. I'd love to *feed* you, love."

Aramis *moans* — 

"And I think it's time for Athos to admit that he would, too," Porthos says, and never looks away from Aramis. 

"Don't —" 

"Don't *lie*, brother. Don't lie and don't *hide*. There's no bottle here for you to dive into. There's just us. And... heh. Aramis, you can talk again." 

"Yes, Porthos?" 

"Yeah. You knew something was a little... different when Athos was talking filth in your ear. Didn't you." 

He cannot lie to Porthos. He *can't*. "Yes, my Porthos." 

Porthos narrows his eyes in *lust*. "I like *that*. Are you my Aramis...?" 

"*Yes* —" 

"Then tell me what you heard. Smelled? Sensed in some other way?"

Athos shudders. "You don't need me here. I —" 

"*Don't* leave, brother. This concerns all of us." 

"Are you ordering me, Porthos." 

"Yes, I bloody well am, *Athos*, because you cede control of this unit when you start doing more *hiding* than telling the *truth*." 

Athos lifts his chin. "There is such a thing as privacy —" 

"And there is such a thing as bloody *brotherhood*. Which you *want* from us. Which you've *always* wanted —" 

"You have *no* idea what you're talking about —" 

"*Athos*. *We both bloody know what brotherhood means to you*." 

"No —" 

"We know *everything* it means, because you *told* us about Thomas —" 

"Don't say his *name* —" 

"And about your lying, *murdering* —" 

Athos backhands Porthos — and then looks horrified. Wild. Lost. 

Porthos is wincing — he shakes his head once and moves back from Aramis. 

Without his heat, Aramis is — no. No. "Athos..." 

"I — I — you mustn't — I'm *sorry*," he says, and he's clenching and unclenching his fists — 

Staring wildly — 

Porthos growls and pulls them both into a hug. He — 

Aramis clutches them carefully, *carefully*, but he must show them, must give them — 

Must comfort — 

Somehow give his loves *comfort* — 

Athos — huffs. 

Aramis *blinks* — 

Porthos stiffens for a moment — and relaxes. "Brother?"

"Now we're *all* covered in gore." 

Porthos *snorts*. "I say *again*, it's not the first bloody *time*." 

"Oh — God. Can we please not remind me *more* of the first *time*?" 

Porthos *croaks* a laugh — 

Aramis's jaw drops — 

And Athos huffs — repeatedly. 

Almost *violently*. He steps away from them and digs the heels of his bloodied hands in against his forehead — 

He's still *huffing* —

Aramis and Porthos share a look — 

And then Aramis goes to Athos, and curls his hands over his shoulders from the back, and squeezes — 

"I imagine..." 

"What do you imagine, Athos?" 

Athos takes a breath. "Will you let me hear what it sounds like when you say 'my Athos'?" 

Aramis grunts — "My Athos, I will say this all the *time* —" 

"Please. Only when — *if* — I earn it. But thank you," Athos says, and drops his hands. "I... I imagine that his blood — Thomas's blood — smelled different from all the rest. That it was... more pure." 

Aramis hums. "This is a conceit which makes perfect sense to me —" 

"You would have loved him," Athos says, and scrubs a hand down over his face — 

And does it again — 

"You especially, I mean. He would've — interrogated you about your bible studies. He would have asked for more and more and *more* information, and asked you to help him with his own — ah, fuck, I miss — I miss him so —" And Athos pants — 

Pants *desperately* — 

Porthos comes close, and they pull him into another hug. 

They hold him. 

"Breathe, brother. Slow it down," Porthos says. 

"He. He's been gone — why is he still *gone*." 

Aramis moans and turns to kiss Athos's cheek before he can think — 

Athos growls and *shoves* him back — 

"I apologize, I did not —" 

"*No* — I —" 

"*Brother* —" 

"I *need*," Athos says, shoving Aramis against the wall — 

He trips over the rapist's *body* and *slams* against Aramis — 

This kiss is *clumsy* — and then it isn't. 

It's wet, seeking, hot, *hot* — 

Nothing has felt so hot since before he'd met *Hélène* — 

He can't — 

He can't do anything but cup Athos's face — 

Pull him in — 

Urge him, *urge* him — 

Athos growls and bites him so *hard* — 

Aramis cries *out* — 

Aramis *bucks* — 

He tries to get Athos to crush him, to give him his *heat*, to take his *clothes* off — 

And then Porthos is right there, breathing *hot* into Aramis's ear. "Is that how you like to be kissed by a man, love?" 

Aramis *whimpers* — 

"Is that how *I* should kiss you...?" 

Any way, *all* ways — 

He takes one hand off Athos so he can *grip* Porthos — 

Athos grips *him* by the *balls* — 

Aramis throws his head back and *shouts* — 

"I think you should bite his throat, brother," Porthos says — 

"I want to bite him *everywhere*. I want. I want to *lose* myself —" 

"But do you want to *give* yourself?" 

"I don't — I don't know *how* anymore —" 

"I'll show you," Porthos says, and yanks Athos's head back — 

Kisses him *hard* — 

Grips *him* by the balls — 

He *bucks* — 

The moon is a *sliver* on the *horizon* — 

Aramis does not wish to *care* about that, but — 

Oh, but Athos is moaning, *clutching* Porthos, *giving* — 

And they both want *him*!

He can leave. He can *leave*. 

"I will be at Treville's!" he calls, and *runs* — 

They will catch up to him later.


	12. He was happy just having you in his house, Aramis. This is Best Day Ever territory.

Aramis is smiling under his blankets — 

There is now a *bed* to go with them — 

Firm, but not too firm —

Aramis is laughing and smiling and — 

Touching his freshly-washed mouth — 

There had been *several* basins waiting for him — 

And a note from Treville saying that he would be back soon — 

Aramis is waiting for his brothers to *come* to him — but. 

They had wandered far, tonight. His brothers will, most likely, not arrive until after dawn. 

Still!

They have had success!

And they have had... so much else.

So *much*!

The way Porthos had *spoken* to him — 

The way he had taken *control* — 

So *easily* — 

So *perfectly* — 

And *Athos*! So hurt, so hungry! So *hot* as he had bitten and *sucked* at Aramis's dirty *mouth*. 

Aramis had forgotten to *stop* him — 

To *try* to stop him — 

Athos's hand on his balls had been so *hard* — 

Athos's tongue in his mouth had been so — 

So — 

And hadn't the animal in him known what it had needed from the time he had awakened tonight? He — 

Oh — 

Treville's tread on the stairs — 

And Treville is *rumbling* — 

Like some great — dog. He is a *dog*, and Aramis will *remember* that, and — 

Oh, he is rumbling even *louder* — 

"Sir —" 

"Son. You smell much better than you did last night," Treville says, and sits on the side of the bed, resting his hand on Aramis's chest. 

"You have let me wash!" 

"I meant your *mood*. I take it you boys had some success tonight...?" 

"Oh, yes!" 

"So some of your targets *did* survive." 

"Well... no. But —" 

Treville laughs. "But *what*?" 

"But they *could've* survived if my brothers had been *less* successful, sir." 

"I *see*. They *shocked* you into good behaviour." 

"Yes! It was *highly* effective." 

"Mm. Tell me what *wasn't* effective." 

"Ah... well. Prayer, and —" 

"What." 

"Sir?" 

"Prayer didn't *work*?" 

"No, sir. You were... expecting..." 

"Aramis, most blood-drinkers in this part of the world can be *stopped* with that rosary on your chest — or at least put off for long enough for harsher measures. *You* don't wear yours next to your — skin. Shit. You were all day today, when I had your clothes." 

"Yes —" 

"And you're doing it again right bloody — *shit*. You said she was *Swiss*?" 

"*Yes*, sir, though her accent was somewhat... off —" 

"Right, well, we have a problem." 

Aramis winces. "Sir...?" 

"Son, I was assuming that you were still wearing that thing out of sheer *bloody-mindedness*." 

"I." 

"It would be just *like* you." 

"This is true, but —" 

"The blood-drinker who turned you must now be considered *officially* too powerful for me to stop on my own, should she decide to do anything *else* untoward in my territory." 

"Oh. Does that... mean..." 

"*You* are going to be nearly unstoppable, son." 

"But... ah. About the... crucifix?" 

"Mm? Oh. Well." Treville strokes Aramis's chest. "The good news is, all sorts of *other* gods have no problem whatsoever with beings like what you've become." 

"Sir —" 

"Take, for example, the All-Mother. My goddess." 

"What? Who —" 

"She's the earth goddess, son. The Mother of all. The Mother of everything *you* have come to think of as Creation — and a whole lot more besides." 

"She — she is *real*?" 

"I commune with Her all the time, son. If I don't, She *yanks* me down into the earth —" 

"I." 

"— and *makes* me commune with Her. Much better to do it by choice. But listen —" 

"Sir..."

"Oh, son... don't let this stop you," Treville says, and moves his hand to Aramis's face through the blankets, stroking and caressing — 

Somehow it's so easy to *feel* — 

To — 

Aramis breathes — 

And breathes — 

"That's right, son. Breathe me in. *Take* me in." 

Aramis nods and keeps breathing. 

"Good boy. You know I care for the whole regiment. All of you boys mean so *much* to me. But the three of you..." Treville sighs and moves closer. "You're *my* boys. You're my *heart*." 

Aramis thinks about Porthos's *fantasies* — 

About Porthos's desires for *all* of them — 

About how much sense they make, in these mornings when he's alone with Treville. 

When Treville is *touching* — 

Aramis's breath *hitches* — 

He can't — 

"Son...?"

"I — I'm sorry, sir —" 

"Shh," Treville says. "Just tell me what's... wrong..."

And Treville can smell him. 

Treville can smell Aramis's growing arousal just as well as Aramis can smell Treville's confusion and hunger and hope. 

This...

Aramis growls and *yanks* the blankets down to his chest — 

"*Son* —" 

"There are no *windows* down here, sir —" 

"You must be *safe* —" 

"You may cover me when I *sleep*, but — I need your eyes. I need you."

Treville — pants. "What do you need, son." And Treville's eyes aren't *hard*, but they're sharp, powerful, demanding, *full* — 

Aramis can't look *away* — 

And he can't — 

He must — 

He sits up, slowly, carefully, letting the blankets puddle in his lap, and he leans in, giving Treville plenty of time to stop him, to — 

Treville growls and bites his *throat* — 

Aramis's cock *flexes* — 

Aramis comes over in *gooseflesh* — 

Every bit of stolen blood in his body *ignites*, and — 

He — 

"Please! Please bite *harder*!" 

Treville pulls *back* — 

"No — *please* —" 

"Aramis. If I break the skin... we'll be linked." 

"What... what?" 

"Hélène could read your mind. You could've read hers, at the end, if you hadn't been busy dying. Blood-magery is like that. We'll share thoughts, emotions —" 

"We already *do* that through our *scents*, please *bite*, sir —" 

"Oh, son..." And Treville snarls and bites hard, bites *deep* — 

His teeth are so *sharp* — 

He's lapping and lapping and — 

His breath is so *hot* — 

He's still *snarling* — he stops and growls and *sucks*, slurps, sucks *hard*, and Aramis's cock jerks *violently* — 

"Sir — *sir* —" 

Aramis *clutches* him — 

He can't — 

He has to feel his *strength* — 

(Where do you want to feel it, son...?) 

*Treville*!

(Shh... there's no need to shout,) Treville says, and sucks in pulses, strong *pulses* — 

Aramis's cock jerks for every *one* — 

(Shall I stroke you? Mm? Do you want to feel my hot hand —)

*Please*!

(I'll be grateful for this forever just for you giving me the opportunity to open a beautiful man's breeches for the sake of abject deviance again, son,) Treville says, pushing one hand into Aramis's hair and *gripping* — 

"Unh —" 

— and opening Aramis's breeches *easily* and *quickly* with his other hand. He — 

He is so *experienced* — 

He has made love to *many* men — and boys? 

(Some few...) And Treville is laughing in Aramis's mind, amused, *happy* — 

So — 

(Thrilled to the heart of me, son, oh, I've *wanted* this," Treville says, and pulls back from the wound on Aramis's throat, licking it — 

Licking it *closed* — 

It — 

"Wait, no, please —" 

"Shh. My boys have to be properly *fed*," Treville says, and *yanks* Aramis down to his own throat — 

"Sir — *sir* —" 

"This is what did it, isn't it, son," Treville says, and wraps his big, rough hand around Aramis's cock — 

"Oh — *God* — *please* —" 

"This is what *stopped* you. The prospect of having your brothers the way you've *wanted*." 

"Yes, sir, *yes*, sir —" 

"They filled your mind with *filth*, didn't they..." And Treville starts to *stroke*, hard and *fast* — 

"Ah! *Ahn* —" 

"Answer me." 

"*Yes*! Yes, they did!" 

"Especially my Porthos, I'd wager..." 

"Please —" 

Treville squeezes *hard* — 

"*Yes*! Oh, *yes*!" 

"Was he filthy with you? Did he make you... dream?" 

"He made me dream of *you*, sir! He — he aches for you, *yearns* for you, pleasures himself to dreams of the four of us all —" 

Treville *snarls* — 

Moves his free hand to *Aramis's* hand and curls it around his own *big*, *hard* cock through his trousers — 

"Oh, *sir* —" 

"Squeeze and *bite*." 

Aramis *obeys* — 

Treville shudders and squeezes *him* at the first prick of Aramis's fangs, but *gasps* when Aramis bites deep — 

Shakes and gasps again, *again* —

His hand is *trembling* — 

And his blood is... powerful. 

Rich. 

*Hot*. 

Wilder than anything Aramis has tasted, more vital, more — 

*More*, and Treville is groaning and growling, *jerking* behind his trousers — 

Aramis tears them *away* — 

His big cock pops free — 

And it doesn't feel even a little human!

It doesn't — 

It's slick, tender, hot — 

And the knot is pulsing, throbbing, so — 

He wants it *inside* him!

(That... can be arranged...) 

Aramis *bucks* into Treville's trembling hand — 

He needs more, he needs his touch, his kiss — 

He pulls *back* — oh, but he doesn't know how to stop the *bleeding* — 

Treville laughs. "Did you not — not *read* the whole note?" 

"I..." 

"Lick me. Lick me *clean* — no, not my cock... yet..." 

Aramis moans and licks and *licks* Treville's throat — the wounds close!

And Treville *yanks* him into a kiss, a hard kiss, a sweet and dirty and wet and *bloody* kiss — 

They are *pumping* into each other's hands — 

They are *giving* each other their need, their hunger, their *pleasure* — 

He never *knew* — 

(Oh, *son* —) 

And Treville *shoves* him down onto his back and ruts against him, *fucks* against him — 

Aramis gasps and feels — 

Feels so — 

"Fucked, son...?" 

Aramis *blushes* — "Yes — *yes*, sir —" 

"Wrap your legs around me. Let — let me *feel* —" 

Aramis *obeys* — 

And blushes *harder, *needier*. Treville has one hand back in his hair and the other *locked* around Aramis's throat, *pressing* on the bite-scars — 

"Sir — s-sir —" 

"Do you *like* it." 

"Please do not *stop*!" 

Treville squeezes his eyes shut and *slams* against him — 

Again — 

*Again* — 

And then he opens his eyes and *grins* — and *grinds* — 

"*Sir*!"

"Take it, son," He says, and he's swiveling his hips, grinding Aramis into the bed and making Aramis want to be fucked so hard, so *hard* — 

Please, so *hard* — 

"Fuck, the way your cock *jerks* against mine — I'll give you *exactly* what you *need* —" 

"Yes, please! *Please*!" 

Treville *darts* in and bites Aramis's *cheek* — 

Aramis shouts and *bucks* — 

Treville growls and slams *again* — 

Again and *again* — 

Aramis sobs and arches and *spends*, everything in him burning so bright, so blinding, and he will *never* miss the sun if he can have *this*!

"Oh, son, I've wanted to make you *mine* since the very first *day*," Treville says, and slams again — 

Over and *over* again as Aramis spasms and spasms and — doesn't spill.

Doesn't spill *anything* — 

"Don't *worry* about it," Treville says, and — "You smell — so *fucking* good. I can't — I need —" 

He snarls again, moving the hand on Aramis's throat and biting him again, biting *deep* — 

Aramis *wails* and spends dryly *again* — 

And Treville groans and growls and spills all over him. 

All — 

So wet, so hot, so — 

Oh, he wants to lick, to taste, to — 

Treville is still *grinding* — 

Even as he releases the *bite* — 

Licks him *healed* — 

"Please, please, let me —" 

"Right, so is one of us going to get to lick that up?" 

Oh, Porthos!

Athos huffs. "Porthos. You —" 

And then Aramis yawns, and everything is the scents of arousal and curiosity, all the many scents of them, and Treville's weight is so warm and —


	13. About that *other* 'my Porthos'...

There is warmth, spicy heat, wonderful and sweet-salty-musky — 

They are *outside* the darkness, and he is Aramis, and he knows this lesson now, and — 

And Porthos is laughing *delightedly*. "I didn't have to drink, at *all*!" And Porthos's hard, big hand is in Aramis's hair, petting and stroking and so — "You just go ahead and suckle, love. I don't mind one bit." 

Suckle?

He — 

Aramis blinks himself *more* awake — and realizes that he's crawled out from under the blankets and is gripping Porthos's arm — 

That he's kissing and licking and, yes, *suckling* his wrist — 

*Not* trying to bite, but —

Aramis blushes and pulls back — 

"Aw, no, don't do *that* —" 

"Porthos —" 

"*Your* Porthos." 

Aramis *moans*, teeth extending and cock jerking and beginning to thicken — 

"Hm. That reflex *might* be problematic."

Athos! Aramis turns — 

Athos is on his other side in the bed — 

He's holding a slim volume of poetry and sitting up against the headboard — 

He — 

*Both* he and Porthos are wearing only their *breeches*, and Aramis wants to know what he's *missed*!

He sniffs at the air — 

They've *washed* too thoroughly — 

They'd even washed *him* — 

*Damnit* — 

"Mm? What is it, love? What do you smell?" And Porthos sits up and wraps an arm around Aramis's waist from the back. 

"Oh —" 

"Are you all right?" And Porthos kisses his ear. 

"I am —" But it's hard to *talk* with his teeth like this. He'd learned that the *first* night. Aramis concentrates — 

Concentrates on how satisfied he is — 

He is *not* hungry — and his teeth retract!

Athos smiles at him. "Excellent work. How did you do it?" 

"Mm? He fixed his teeth?" And Porthos kisses the back of Aramis's *neck* — 

"I — yes," Aramis says, and *flushes* — no. "I concentrated on how satisfied I felt. How... I am *not* hungry." 

Porthos laughs hard, and Aramis is close enough to feel it, to be moved by it — 

To *live* in it — 

"I'd *hope* you weren't hungry, love. Paris doesn't have *that* many arseholes."

"We shouldn't rule out letting Aramis make France a positive Paradise to live in, Porthos," Athos says, and smiles sharply. 

"*I* think we shouldn't rule out *checking* to make *certain* our brother is... satisfied," Porthos says, and presses his smile to Aramis's ear — 

And pushes his hand down — 

Down beneath the puddled *blankets* — 

Aramis *flushes* — "My *Porthos*, I — I..." 

He cups and *squeezes* Aramis through his breeches — "You were incredible this morning, love. Sprawled out under Treville and slick with his spend and just a *little* flushed —" 

"And dead," Athos says. 

"Not bloody *dead*, you arse. *Sleeping*."

"He didn't so much as *inhale* while we were washing him and getting him arranged under the covers —" 

"Sleeping *deeply*." 

Athos huffs — 

"Friend Athos —" 

"Oh — damn. I've lost your possessiveness," Athos says, and smiles ruefully. "I... what can I do to get it back?" 

Aramis blinks — "I — do you *want* it?"

Athos's eyes heat — and narrow. "Aramis. I have dreamed of you... extensively." 

"But not like *this* — *mm* —" And Porthos's free hand is over his *mouth* — 

"Let Athos talk, love." 

He was *doing* that — 

"Talk more, Athos. A *lot* more." 

Oh. 

Athos hums. "Yes, all right. I'm curious about, fascinated by, and *somewhat* worried by your condition, Aramis, but I find that all of that merely enhances my desire to make love with you — and to make love with you in many different ways." 

*Which* ways — 

"Treville told us the two of you shared blood this morning," Porthos says. "That's..." He sighs in Aramis's ear. "That's hot as *fire*. Especially since he *also* said you could hear each other's *thoughts* now." 

Aramis shivers. His teeth are lengthening again, and — 

"Which brings me to my only — *only* — concerns," Athos says, and smiles wryly. 

"Aw —" 

"We are on one of Treville's beds, in Treville's *home*, deep in negotiations to make love with the man Treville made love with this *morning* —" 

"Mate, do you *really* think he'd mind? We were all mopping up his spend *together*!" 

Aramis grunts behind Porthos's hand and *blinks* — 

"Yes, it was quite the bonding experience," Athos says, "but —" 

"No *buts* —" 

"*But*, if *nothing* else, brother, he *told* us that he had something serious he needed to speak to all of us about when he came home from the garrison —" 

"*Fuck* —" And Porthos laughs again. "*My cock is angry at you*." 

Athos huffs twice. "I imagine it's not the first *time* —" 

"You *arse* —" 

"— though I invite it to take its grievances up with me personally and at... length, at a more appropriate time." And Athos raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos pants — 

Growls — 

"Right, *wait*," he says, and uncovers Aramis's mouth. "I never got my *kiss* last night —" And he turns Aramis to face him —

Aramis whimpers — 

His teeth are *impossible* — 

He can't — 

"Oh... oh, love..." And Porthos licks his lips. "You *need* the bite, don't you." 

Aramis shakes his head *hard*. 

"Shh, shh, don't — don't try to deny yourself, love. You already know I *want* to feed you," Porthos says, cupping the back of Aramis's head and pulling him in close — 

He smells so *good* — 

Aramis can't *resist* — 

"That's right, love, come to me, come take what you need so I can *finally* have what *I* need —" 

*Oh* — 

Aramis *bites* — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"You rather asked for that, brother." 

"Unh — oh — *fuck* —" And Porthos *grips* the back of Aramis's head with one hand and his shoulder with the other — 

His hands are so big — 

So strong so hot — 

His blood is so *rich* —

Pulsing and *flooding* into Aramis's mouth, so rich, so healthy, so *strong* — 

Aramis *sucks* — 

Porthos groans and *shakes*, pulling him closer — but Aramis has what he needs. 

*Enough* of what he needs. 

He pulls back against Porthos's *grip*, lapping to close the wounds — 

"Shit — *fuck* — wait —"

"My Porthos — my Porthos, I wish to be kissed —" 

Porthos grunts and pushes his fingers *into* Aramis's hair — 

*Grips* — 

"Love — oh, love —" And he turns and kisses Aramis hard, sweetly, *hungrily* — 

He doesn't *pause* for the blood — 

He is as hungry, as *seeking*, as Athos had been — 

He is kissing so hard, lapping and — and *fucking* — 

Shoving his tongue in and in and in so *deep* — 

Aramis is shaking, petting him, stroking down over his broad, beautiful chest — 

Thumbing his dark, stiff nipples — 

Porthos *pants* into his mouth — and then kisses him even *harder* — 

Athos clears his throat — 

And Porthos *laughs* — and kisses Aramis softly before pulling back. "You and my cock are going to have a *very serious talk*, Athos." 

"Preferably while I'm on my knees," Athos says — 

Aramis *coughs* — 

Porthos *wheezes* — "You're not bloody *helping* —" 

"Until then, however, we should —" 

"Aramis, bite him," Porthos says. 

"I — believe he should get a vote?" 

"Nah," Porthos says. "He ceded his vote by being an arse. Didn't you, brother." 

Athos huffs. "I — I truly did — mm. And I want it. Please —" 

Aramis moans and *lunges* — 

"Oh..." 

Bites *deep* — 

"Oh — *God* —" 

"Yeah, eh?" 

"He — he's all through me, I feel —" Athos groans and *clutches* Aramis — 

And Aramis suckles, drinks, *drinks*, and Athos has not had nearly enough *alcohol* recently, his head must be *killing* him, but he is delicious, sweet, iron, *strong* — 

(I want to taste him, too...) 

My Porthos!

(My Aramis...) And Porthos strokes down Aramis's back before cupping his arse. (How long before Athos can hear —)

(I — I — I can — oh, both of you, my brothers, I love you, I've loved you for so long, I feared you, I still do, don't LEAVE —) 

Porthos *grunts* — 

Aramis licks the wound *closed* — 

(No — no, keep —) 

— and moves *Athos* to the middle of the bed, where they can hold him. 

And hold him down. 

"Good thought, love." 

"Thank you, my Porthos." 

Athos shivers and moans and — "Please. Please. I would like —" 

And Aramis and Porthos move to kiss Athos at the same time — 

Smile at each other — 

And they do not stop. They move in more carefully, more slowly, and then they kiss Athos together, kiss him hungrily, kiss him *filthily*, kiss him *bloodily* — 

(I NEED YOU BOTH!) 

(You have us, brother. *Always*,) Porthos says, and lies down half on top of Athos — 

Aramis gives him his *own* weight — 

He *shivers* beneath them — 

(Don't even *think* of moving, love.) 

But — 

(Please, please, you feel so wonderful, you both feel —) And Athos is groaning and making love to both of their mouths, petting and stroking them, *gripping* them — 

Aramis stays right where he is. 

Though he is tempted to arch his back, or perhaps lift his hips, when he hears Treville's tread on the stairs — 

(*That's* filthy, love.) 

"I found it rather heartwarming," Treville says, with a laugh in his voice. 

Porthos pulls back from the kiss, leaving Athos's mouth to Aramis — 

"Sir..." 

"Yes, son?" Treville is still laughing under his voice. 

"Exactly when are you going to share with the rest of us what you find *cock*-warming." 

Athos hums into Aramis's mouth — (I don't think we're supposed to pressure our superior officers into making love with us, Porthos.) 

Porthos *coughs* — 

But... 

Treville smells panicked, again. 

And Aramis believes he is *hiding* his thoughts. He — 

(Not for long, son.) 

"What? What was that?" And Porthos is still laughing — 

But Athos is pushing Aramis back — 

"I — I apologize —" 

"Please don't," Athos says, and smiles at him — and then turns to Treville. "But there's something strange here."

They sit up together — 

And the smile on Treville's face is rueful — and he's focused entirely on Porthos... whose own smile is fading. 

"Right, so I *am* putting too much pressure —" 

"Stop. Son, I —" 

"Sir, if you don't want —" 

Treville barks a laugh. "That's *not* the problem, son. That — that could never be the problem," he says, and takes a step closer — and stops. 

Stops. 

*Winces* — 

Athos frowns. "Then what *is* the problem, sir? Is it Porthos's involvement with me? I am, of course, aware of your involvement with my father —" 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"I would never stand in your way —" 

"Son — *Athos* —" 

"You *must* know that if you desire Porthos —" 

"*Wait*," Treville says, in the Captain's *sharpest* voice — 

They're *all* sitting up straight — 

"Thank you. I'm attracted — *something* help me, I'm attracted to all of you." 

Athos blinks — 

Porthos licks his lips — "But not enough?" 

"That's — again, that's not the problem, son. That's — I love you all. I was telling Aramis — you boys are my *heart*. You're what *keeps* me here, trapped in that accursed little *box* —" 

"Sir...?" 

"Athos — oh, Athos, son, I know you have questions, you perhaps more than anyone else right now, but I need you to wait a few more moments. Please." 

Athos blinks more, wide-eyed — and nods. 

"Thank you," Treville says, and turns to take in all of them again. "I *don't* tend to fight the left-handed war alone, gentlemen. When I'm fighting the undead and other magically-inclined pillocks, I usually have an ally. A brother. His name is Jason Blood, and he's an immortal British blood-mage — among other things — whom I met when I was looking for help with... with a very serious problem. A need. A *hunger*," Treville says, and looks to Porthos again. 

"What is it, sir? What — what *hunger*?" 

"Your mother, son. Your mother who was... ripped away from me —" 

"What the bloody — stop. *Stop*!" 

Treville winces. 

Athos is blinking at him — 

And Aramis is — he does not know what he is. He smells Treville's hunger, Treville's *need* — for *all* of them! 

He smells his own and Athos's *confusion* — 

And he smells *Porthos's* dawning knowledge — and anger. He — 

Aramis turns to Porthos, rests a hand on his thigh, *cups* his thigh — "My Porthos..." 

"My mum talked about him," Porthos says, covering Aramis's hand with his own and never looking away from Treville. 

"What... what?" 

"My mum — she *always* talked about the importance of friends, and how it wasn't a *real* friend unless it was family, too. And I would — I would bloody *hound* her. I wanted to *know*. *Who* were her friends. *Why* couldn't we *see* them —" Porthos growls. "She would get sicker whenever she gave details about her past. I didn't understand, at first. I didn't understand *soon* enough."

Aramis doesn't understand, at *all* — 

And Athos — "Brother...? What are you saying?" 

Porthos jerks his head at Treville. "He knows. He knows what happened to her." 

"I do, son —" 

"Don't —" Porthos growls again. "Right at the end. When she was thin. Weak. *Grey*." 

Treville whines precisely like the dog he *is* — 

"She would make that sound, too. That *hurt* sound — and no more words. *After* she told me the story about her three *closest* friends. Her *brothers* —" 

Treville *barks* — 

"The incredibly pretty redhead who was always chasing girls, and always flirting with her in his thick country accent." 

"Reynard, my — fuck — please keep —" 

"The bloody *huge* one, the one so big his horse practically needed her own bloody *stable*. The one who was neat and kind and cuddly and laughed like a *rockslide*. 

"Kitos. My beloved — son, I —" 

"And the last one. The one who wasn't so pretty, and wasn't so big, but who could make her laugh even when all she wanted to do was stab someone, who always *tried* to make her laugh, who always looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the *spheres* —" Porthos makes a helpless sound. "She went on. She — she was delirious, but she managed to get out — more. And especially that the three of you were bloody *Musketeers*." 

Treville pants. He — 

His eyes are wet. 

He licks his *lips* — "I. Would like to know." 

"Just answer the question first, sir. The question you *know* I have to —" 

"I'm not your blood-father, son. I *am* your father in every way that matters." 

"I..." Porthos frowns. 

He smells so *hurt* — 

Aramis hugs him *close* — 

Athos grips Porthos's arm — 

And Porthos kisses his cheek and hugs Aramis back — 

Reaches to *grip* Athos's hand — 

"Sir... that... you *know* I just have more *questions*." 

"I know, son. Your mother and I were lovers —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"— but not until after she was pregnant with you. Pregnant by the eldest son of the then Marquis de Belgard. I — I killed that man —" 

"You *what*? Were you *jealous*?" 

"Yes," Treville says, flat and matter-of-fact. "But that's not why. He never formally put your mother aside, even though she was pregnant with you. Even after she gave *birth* to you. I would beg your mother to let Laurent and me intercede, *make* him break it off, but she — she didn't want to be indebted to any more nobles." Treville scrubs a hand down over his face. "He was... we never thought to fear him. He was a pathetic little man. Greedy, petulant... we all thought the one *good* thing about him was that he recognized quality when he saw it in your mother. 

"But he wouldn't put her aside, and... your mother... did she. No, she couldn't have told you this," Treville says, and shakes his head. "She had guardians. Witch-guardians. When the youngest — Ife — had a prophecy that you and your mother would be in grave danger unless you both had a protector... well, they didn't choose me. They *wouldn't* have chosen me. They *hated* me. I was the drunken buggerer who kept leading their girl into trouble. 

"That's how they saw things. That's — I —" Treville shakes his head again. "My Amina-love made them choose me, and they bound us, and bound our spirits to dogs, and augmented our powers. This is magic that normally doesn't *work* very well... but it worked for us. 

"The only problem was that I was still a Musketeer, and I still had to go on missions when I was called up to do so. I left you and my Amina-love alone... and Belgard, who'd been pressured by his family to get rid of the evidence of his 'misbehaviour', set an assassin on both of you —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Your mother fought the man off with her dirty blade. Gave him a blood-sickness —" 

"What — what — why didn't she use her *magic*?" 

Treville shows his teeth — and shakes his head *once*. "I pieced this all together after, you understand —" 

"Just tell me!" 

"I tracked the assassin after I got back from my mission. You and my Amina-love had disappeared. I could feel your *absence*. I knew you were both alive — the binding worked just that way — but suddenly I couldn't tell where you were. You might've been in the next room or on another *sphere*. 

"I was... I was broken. Wild. Out of control. Laurent kept Captain Bissette busy with excuses for me and I... hunted. When I found the assassin, he was in Reims, in gaol and set to be hanged for slaughtering three wet-nurses. He was a madman — and immune to earth-magery. The guards were not. I got in, and tortured every last scrap of information I could get out of him. And then I let him bleed out in his cell. 

"And then I went after Belgard," Treville says, and he's obviously looking into his own memories. "I couldn't — I couldn't let him live. Not after that." He focuses on Porthos. "I'm sorry —" 

"Don't bloody *apologize*! Not for *that*!" 

Treville inhales — and growls. "I strung him up by his own intestines. I was technically interrogating him, but I already knew the story. I left him for his own corrupt and murderous family to find." Treville turns to Athos. "Your father cleaned that mess for me." 

"I... *how*?" 

"He admonished me not to ask, son. He... he told me it was his duty as my brother, and the man who hoped to be my son's godfather." 

Porthos *grunts* — 

Athos and Porthos share a *look* — 

And then Porthos turns back to Treville. "Yejide — the death-mage my mother worked for and got us together with before she died. She told me — she told me there was death-magic *on* my mother. That she'd made a bad bloody *bargain*. That she'd given away her past so we couldn't be *found* —" 

Treville snarls. "I found the death-mage who forced her into that bargain. With Jason Blood's help. I needed it. I'd hit a brick wall and I —" He closes his hands into fists. "Years. Years of *nothing*. I felt your mother *die*, and *someone* led me to her body — probably your Yejide. I felt her die. I took her body and *studied* it with Ife so we could try to find *you* — 

"Fuck, son, I saw your pictures on the walls of that tenement, and all I could think about was how you used to grip my fingers in your — your chubby little fists —" 

Porthos *grunts* — 

"I saw the nest of *blankets*, and I thought about how you slept on my chest — after crying like a *demon* for *hours* at a time. I would rumble for you, son. I would — for the joy of *having* you there!" 

"*Treville*, you — *fuck* —" 

"I starved for you!" 

Porthos blinks —

And Aramis realizes — 

"There's something... unsavory here," Athos says. "More unsavory." 

Treville covers his face — 

And Porthos releases Aramis and stands, *moves* to Treville — 

Reaches for him — but doesn't touch before he drops his hand. 

Treville *shudders* — 

"What. What is it, Treville. What did you do." 

Treville inhales with another shudder, drops his own hands, and stands straight. His eyes are dry again. He — 

He is ready. 

"Jason helped me find you, at last. But... I couldn't go to you. I couldn't — you were still out of my *reach* —" 

"Bloody *why*?" 

"The magic, son. The — that *bargain*. We'd tracked and tortured and murdered the death-mage who *trapped* you and your mother, that way — that's *why* my rapier is cursed —" 

"Fuck —" 

"I trapped *him* in it, son. He'll — he'll bloody scream for a thousand *years* —" 

"*Fuck*! *Treville* —" 

"But the only person who *could* break the enchantment was you. It — you had to come to me. You had to — somehow — decide to drop everything —" 

"And come to the bloody — garrison — what the —" 

"You —" 

"You *summoned* me!" 

"I did, son —" 

"You —I wasn't going to — I was going to get a job in a tavern, *educate* myself more before coming here —" 

"*That*. The fact that you *were* going to come here —" 

"It lets you sleep at night." 

Treville takes another shuddering breath. "I sleep at night because you're close, son. Because you broke the enchantment the first time you walked into my *office*. Because now I can feel you — and feel where you are. Feel that you're warm, safe, healthy — with people who *love* you!" 

"And not with you? Mm?"

Treville grunts — 

"Not with your memories of my *mum*?" 

"Son —" 

"When the bloody hell were you going to *give* me —" 

"When I could. Control myself." 

"What the — what does that *mean*?"

Another shuddering breath — and then Treville smiles ruefully and reaches up to cup Porthos's face. "I starved for you. I didn't. I didn't... do well. With keeping my feelings for you... appropriate." 

Porthos blinks — 

And they are all, perhaps, remembering where this conversation began. 

Porthos swallows, and stares wide-eyed at Treville. 

Treville drops his hand and steps back. "You'll have all my memories now. We're bound, thanks to Aramis's bite. I — I'll do my best to keep everything else back —" 

"'Everything else'?" 

"I —" 

"What about Aramis, sir?" 

"I won't — I won't. Not again. I lost control —" 

"And Athos?" Porthos steps forward again. "Will you lose control with him —" 

"I'll leave you boys *be*. You don't need my help —" 

"That's *shite* —" 

"It *isn't*. You've learned — so quickly —" 

"What do you *want*." 

(*Everything*!) "Don't —" 

Porthos nods once, and cups Treville's face with both hands — 

(Fuck —) "Don't do this, son —" 

"I think I'll listen to the man inside you, sir. He's a lot more bloody *honest*." And Porthos leans in — 

Treville brings up his hands *late* — and then he *shoves* them into Porthos's hair and *yanks* him into a kiss, a hard kiss, a *growling* kiss — 

A whining and lapping — 

A biting and *crooning* — 

So *hard* — 

Treville is driving Porthos *back* — 

Porthos is nodding and *taking* it — 

_And, suddenly, they're all seeing a younger Treville kissing a beautiful dark-skinned woman just that way. She's *extremely* pregnant, and the younger Treville is coming at her almost from the *side*, but he's still driving her *back* —_

_Licking and nipping and —_

_Driving her back to the *wall* of the study upstairs even as she grips his hips and hauls him *in*, hauls him *close* —_

_"Amina-love — mm, fuck, let me, just *let* me —"_

_She shoves him back and turns around to *face* the wall — "Do it, sweet brother, *do* it!"_

_He groans and *yanks* her wrap-dress up —_

_Up and *up* —_

_Her arse is big and round and —_

_"Oh, Amina-love..."_

_"Do not get *distracted*, you great nancy! Get in my *cunt*!"_

_And they're laughing together, panting with their long tongues out, *lolling* their tongues and laughing *more*, and Treville's cock is thick and hard, *wet* with slick, pointed and red and so *tender*-looking —_

_He croons and pushes in —_

_She's tight, hot, wet, so *wet* —_

_His knot doesn't *go* all the way —_

_But a little. Just —_

_"Yes! Oh, *yes*! Fuck me!"_

_"Amina — Amina-love —"_

_"*Fuck* me!"_

_Treville growls and bites her *throat* —_

_She flexes open and yips —_

_Treville pushes his knot a little deeper, a little more, a little *more*, and he's thrusting, rocking, giving it to her, giving her *everything*, she's his *mate*, he has to give her everything —_

_"Sweet — oh, sweet brother, do not stop, do not *stop*!"_

_He rocks *in*, in harder, just —_

_He gives her more, pushes *deeper* —_

_She *howls*, and she has most of it, *almost* all, and it feels like he's home, like he's where he belongs, like nothing has ever been more bloody *correct* —_

_He shoves *in* —_

_She howls *again*, stomping her foot and *rocking* back on him, trying to *bounce* on him, and he grips her perfect hips and bites the back of her neck, holds her, *holds* her —_

_And ruts —_

_And ruts —_

_And —_

_Oh, she *clenches*, and it's so tight, he's throbbing, he's flexing, he can't see, he can't think, he's an animal, just an animal —_

_(And — I am, *too*!)_

_And they're singing together, howling and *shoving* each other together, *crashing* together faster and faster, needier and *needier* —_

_(Good — so *good* —)_

_He's howling into the *bite*-wound on her *neck* —_

_She's running out of *air* to howl —_

_And then he swivels his hips and *grinds* in and she *chokes* —_

_Spurts all *over* him —_

_And he's whining, rutting fast-fast-fast —_

_She's sobbing out howls again and again and *again* — and when Treville spends, it feels like he's shooting through a pinhole, like he's —_

_Oh, it bloody *aches*, but he needs it, needs to hurt for his woman, his sister, his perfect *mate* —_

_She clenches again and he *screams* a howl as he spurts again —_

_*Again* —_

_Fills her over and *over* —_

_And maybe the next babe will be theirs in *every* way —_

_She clenches *again* —_

_And this time, spurting makes him croon for mercy. He —_

_He's panting and *drooling* on her neck —_

_He laps to heal, to ease —_

_He takes care of his *mate* —_

_His — giggling mate._

_His *snickering* mate._

_His *guffawing* —_

_Treville blinks. "Amina-love?"_

_She makes a noise like a goose being hugged by Kitos. "Jean-*Armand*. How are we supposed to get into a comfortable *position*?"_

_"Oh. Um..."_

_She laughs harder and reaches back to swat him... many times._

The memory cuts off much less abruptly than it had begun — it almost seems to fade — and Aramis is left blinking and *deeply* and *confusedly* aroused — 

Athos does not seem to be doing much better — 

And Porthos is panting and staring *wildly* at Treville, lips wet and expression *stunned*. 

Treville — is wincing. "I —" 

"*Wait*," Porthos says. 

"Son —" 

"Are you about to bloody apologize for giving me a *happy memory of my mother*." And Porthos stands straight and then *glares* down at Treville. 

"I... am rethinking. Several things." 

"*Good*." 

"But —" 

"I can bloody *understand* you wanting to get a *handle* on yourself before taking me *aside*. I *can*." 

"I — yes?" 

"*Yeah*. It was still the wrong choice. For *me*."

Treville grunts — and growls low. 

"Do *you* understand?" 

Treville's eyes flare that *hot* blue. "My boy... wants everything his father can give him?" 

"Oh — shit. Yeah. Yeah. You putting it like that made my cock try to *bludgeon* my breeches open —" 

"I noticed, son..." 

"— and it *also* made my *mind* try to jump *sideways* —" 

"You have to stop me when that happens, son. You have to —" 

"No, I *don't*," Porthos says, and looms more. "I want it. I want all of it. Everything you *protected* me from —" 

Treville growls low again — 

"Yeah. Bloody *do* that. Because I *do* understand why you couldn't just tell me the truth if being halfway honest with me for twenty bloody *minutes* brings *this* out of you, but *I'm still hacked-off*." 

"Let me... make amends," Treville says, and looks Porthos over *hungrily*. "Let me give you everything you *want*." 

"Give me what I *need*." 

"Tell me what that —" 

"*Family* —" 

And Treville snarls again — 

Turns away — 

And breathes. "You should've had your Uncles. Your Aunt. Your godfather. You —" 

"Give them to me in your *memories*. Give them to the family I have *now*," Porthos says, gripping Treville's chin and turning him back to face — all of them. "Like you did before —" 

_And they're looking at a tall, rangy man with Athos's jawline and thick, dark hair. His eyes are a deeper blue, and his facial hair is much more neatly=kept, but —_

_It's clear —_

_And he's in the Captain's office._

_"Laurent, I'd like you to finally meet my Amina-love," Treville says, and the pride in his voice is massive, strutting —_

_"Jean-*Armand* —"_

_"Are you *not* my Amina-love?" And Treville grins like a man in need of beating —_

_Amina, who is younger than she'd appeared in the other memory, and doesn't appear to be pregnant, at all, narrows her eyes like she means to provide it — before turning to Laurent with a smile and a curtsey. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain. *This* one has told me much about you."_

_"Please, there's no need to be so formal," Laurent says, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. He looks up with a smile that's small on his face and *wildly* excited behind his eyes. "I have long been eager to meet you, Amina."_

_"Mm. Has this one been telling tales?"_

_"Many," Laurent says, and doesn't release her hand for even a moment. "You are his dear sister, and that makes you incalculably important to me." If anything, his eyes are even *wilder* —_

_Amina blinks at Laurent, lips parting — and then she raises an eyebrow. "It seems to me that you are saying... more than what you are saying aloud, Captain."_

_"Please, call me Laurent," he says, and it sounds like a *proposition*._

_Treville *coughs* —_

_And Laurent blushes and ducks his head. "I — you have my apologies, Amina," he says, and *continues* to hold her hand. "My little brother gives his heart neither easily nor profligately, and it has always been clear from his stories of you that you were, and are, one of the most valuable of women."_

_Amina raises her eyebrow higher. "*One* of the most?"_

_"I would very much like to introduce you to my wife," Laurent says, looking up again, and it sounds like *several* propositions, involving several different people, in countless positions._

_Amina... stares._

_Treville licks his lips and — gently — tugs Amina's hand free of Laurent's. "We'll just uh. Amina packed some tea —"_

_"For you and our brothers, of course." Laurent never takes his eyes off Amina. "Please, feel free to visit whenever you wish, Amina."_

_Amina swallows — "I — thank you. Laurent."_

_Laurent smiles like a *madman* — and bows._

And Porthos is choking on laughter — 

Aramis's eyebrows are near his *hairline* — 

And Athos has a look of consternation on his face. "I..." 

Treville smiles at him. "Yes, son?" 

"Did my father *often* look at Porthos's mother as though he wished to *eat* her?" 

Treville sighs happily. "All the time. The way he looked at *your* mother was even *more* terrifying — she just trained him not to do it around you boys." 

Athos — stares. 

"She hoped to avoid him teaching you boys bad habits." 

Porthos snickers hard. "It *mostly* worked." 

"Oh — *thank* you, Porthos, *really*." 

Aramis hugs Athos again. "We all appreciate your mad, burning lust very much, my Athos." 

"I —" 

"*My* question is," Porthos says, and laughs more, "is did she ever bloody come *back*." 

"Oh, all the time, son. Your mother was *fearless* about everything but you. If Laurent had ever gotten handsy when she didn't want him to, she would've *blithely* stabbed him somewhere painful — if she couldn't reach a fatal spot. And then she *would've* gone for a fatal spot." 

Porthos stares — and then wags his head. "Yeah, that does sound like her." 

"I thought it might," Treville says, and smiles. 

"Did my father — did my father and Porthos's mother — and *you* — sir, you know what I'm asking." 

"I do, Athos, and — I have to ask you if you're *certain* you want the answers to that question." 

Athos kisses Aramis's cheek and pushes back gently. "Sir... I need to know." 

Treville inhales — and nods. "Amina. Your father. Your mother. Reynard. Kitos — they were my pack, son. My *pack*. I... don't know how to make you understand what that means, except to tell you this: the blood binding us all together makes *us* pack *now*. All our thoughts, our memories, our lusts and dreams and hungers and emotions — they're all one. 

"All *shared*. There's no getting away from that. It would feel wrong for any of us to *try* —" 

"But you were *going* to, sir," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow.

Treville smiles ruefully. "And I probably would've had to leave the sphere to make it work." 

"Bloody *what*?"

"Jason Blood is my *lover*, son. And the left-handed war takes us... many places. He's asked, more than once, for me to join him more permanently. I... didn't want to leave you boys." 

"But you do *now*?" 

"*Fuck*, no. I — I want to bury myself in *all* of you in every *way*. I — I just meant to say —" 

"That you would've had to *run* like a bloody coward in order to *stay* away," Porthos says, and glares. "How *often* did my mum *punch* you?" 

"Several times a day, sometimes —" 

Porthos punches Treville in the stomach — 

He coughs out his air and *staggers* — 

Porthos steadies him. "Sorry about that, Athos. I know you need answers —" 

"He did, in fact, earn that. And I believe I have... *enough* answers for now." 

Aramis squeezes Athos's shoulder. "Do you?" 

Athos smiles ruefully. "I didn't think that I *could* miss my family more than I already did, but... I didn't know my parents, Aramis. I didn't *know* them. I — there are so many questions I can't *ask* them." 

Treville coughs and gasps. "I — can probably answer many of them. And I will." 

Athos frowns and nods slowly. 

"Right, take your clothes off, Treville —" 

"I —" 

"It's time for us to cuddle Athos more —" 

"I truly don't —" 

"Shut it, brother, you're outvoted —" 

"By you and who *else*?" 

Aramis — gently — puts Athos on his back on the bed, then gives him some of his weight. "My Porthos has very good ideas, my Athos." 

"But —" 

"Shut it, son. Being the Captain is like wearing *chains* most of the time. I've needed to hold you for *years*," Treville says, and opens his tunic at speed. 

"*Porthos*, what happened to your angry *cock*?" 

"It's a bit stunned after watching my mum get knotted, brother —" 

Treville *coughs* again — 

"Give it time."


	14. In which it's in everyone's best interests for Aramis's hungers to be satisfied.

There's the lightest of knocks on the door to the cellar, and Treville's eyes are hot and blue in the gloom. 

Athos and Porthos are dozing between them — 

And Treville smiles at him and brings his finger to his lips before he rolls out of bed — and *shifts*!

The dog who trots near-silently up the stairs is huge and brown, deep-chested with the long muzzle of a hunting hound. 

He scratches once on the door — 

It opens — 

And the dog trots out. Whoever had knocked closes the door again, but — 

But Aramis can hear that it was Alaire, and that Treville had shifted again to speak to him. 

A light meal is ready for them, and *two* new sets of leathers will be ready for *him* soon — 

If Treville feels *Aramis* is ready for them. 

Treville laughs softly — 

Aramis *blushes* — 

And Treville tells Alaire that Aramis *is* ready for them, that his control is just as it should be now.

Alaire vows to bring word to the armorer. Somehow, it still sounds like a noncommittal grunt. 

Aramis smiles ruefully — 

He can *smell* that Treville is just as rueful. He thanks Alaire, and thanks him again for retrieving more clothes for Aramis, and tells the man that they'll be up to eat soon. 

Alaire *intones* an acknowledgment — 

Treville dismisses him — 

And then Treville comes back down the stairs in human-form. 

Athos and Porthos stir immediately, stretching and yawning — 

Athos looks somewhat *stunned* — and this is only confusing until Aramis thinks about how long it must have been since Athos has slept in someone else's — a lover's — arms, as opposed to simply huddled with someone for warmth. 

About the last lover who had given Athos that. 

Aramis pushes the thoughts *away* — not fast enough. Athos is smiling at him wryly. 

"That is, in fact, where my thoughts were taking me." 

Porthos growls and kisses Athos *hard*, sucking on his scarred upper lip for a moment before *delving* into his mouth. (Think about this, instead.) 

(I — I — )

(Think about how much we *love* you.) 

(*Fuck*.) 

(Think about —) 

(I am. My body smells like yours and Treville's and Aramis's. I dreamed of *nothing*. I. I *want* this!) 

Porthos growls and kisses Athos down to the *bed* — 

Athos strokes and caresses Porthos's *back* — 

And Treville laughs softly again, and rests one hand on the back of Aramis's neck. 

The part of Aramis which wants to call the hand proprietary is being stuffed in a basket and kicked out a *window* by the rest, which is leaning into the touch — 

Treville's laugh becomes a *rumble* —

He strokes Aramis's beard — which has not needed so much as a *trim* since Hélène's bite — with the fingertips of his other hand — 

"I never did get to give you a proper good evening." 

And that sounds... no, he will ask. "What is... proper?"

Treville rumbles more, *strokes* him more — 

Aramis leans *into* it — 

"Such a good boy." 

"I —" 

"That all depends on you, son. That..." Treville sighs and strokes Aramis's *mouth* — 

Athos *groans* — 

Porthos pants. "Why don't you tell me what *else* can take the dreams away, eh? I'll do it. I'll do it *happily* —" 

Athos grunts — and Aramis can see him *buck* beneath Porthos out of the corner of his eye. 

"Hmm. Yes," Treville says. "I don't *want* to, but I have to break that up —" 

"There are unhappy noises happening behind me," Porthos says — 

Athos huffs. "I would like to point out that, for once, it's not me standing in the way of your cock." 

Porthos leans in and kisses Athos — 

"*Mm* — 

Kisses him *hard* — 

(Yes, yes, *please* —) 

Porthos growls and pulls *back* — "*Daddy*." 

"*Fuck* — I — *Porthos* —" 

Porthos turns over onto his back and licks his lips. "Does that make you more inclined to let us *fuck*?" 

Treville is staring *wildly* — "It makes me more inclined to bend you over something and *knot* you —"

"Right, that can be *arranged*, but —" 

"*Son*. Don't — don't tease that way. None of you — please," Treville says, shuddering and moving his hand from Aramis's neck —

Covering his *face* — 

Crooning into his own *hands* — he stops. He pants — 

And they're all surrounding him, they're all *holding* him — 

"Sons — *boys* — *men* —" And Treville growls and tries to push free — but he can't seem to make himself use his full strength. 

He — 

He covers his face again — 

And Porthos tugs his hands away. "Sir... will you let me apologize?"

Treville shudders — and laughs with pain. "Apologize for not saying it *again*, son —" 

"Shit —" 

"Don't *listen* to me —"

"I'll *always* listen to you —" 

"Then. Then listen to me when I have some control, son. When... I can hold on." 

And Aramis — can't. "You implied that all of us could hurt you this way, sir —" 

"Aramis —" 

"Can we all *heal* you this way?" 

And Treville looks at him sharply — 

*Hungrily* — 

And then growls and shakes his head. "Don't do this —"

"When we first met. In my initial interview. You asked me why I was taking the name 'Aramis', as opposed to keeping the name I had been given by my *father*. Do you not remember what I *told* you?" 

Treville *snarls* — 

Porthos growls — 

And Athos narrows his eyes. 

They all know. They all know *him*. 

They are his *family*, his *true* family, and —

And — this is something that is *correct*. 

"*You* have been my father, sir —" 

"*Don't* —" 

"You have been more my father than *any* other man could *ever* be —" 

"I made *love* to you!" 

Aramis pants — and grins. He knows his teeth are lengthening a little. "You never stopped calling me 'son', Sir. Daddy? I do not wish to call any man 'father' ever again, but if you prefer —" 

Treville *growls* — 

"As a *matter* of fact," Porthos says, "you were calling *me* son *right* up until you were *devouring* my mouth — and right after, too." 

"I —" 

"Will you make love with me, sir?" And Athos's eyebrow is up. "You're fully aware that I called my father 'sir' until the day he died —" 

"Son — *Athos* —" 

"You're already my godfather," Athos says, and lets his gaze drop to Treville's mouth. "I find... that I wish to know more about being in my godfather's... pack."

Treville... croons. He sounds — and smells — almost *helpless*. 

Aramis squeezes him tighter — 

They *all* do — 

"You gave us what we needed," Porthos says. "You *always* give us what we need — and make it easier for us to get what we need — and want, and *hunger* for — from other places. And you..." Porthos growls again and turns Treville to face him. "This is it, isn't it? You want to give us even more. You want to *shower* us with all your *love* —" 

"*Yes* — I — I don't know..." 

"What don't you know, Daddy? Mm?" 

Treville pants —

Turns and *licks* Porthos's *hand* — 

Porthos *grunts* — 

And Treville pants more before saying, "I don't know how easily I'll be able to... pull back. Once I start this. *If* I start this —" 

"Then don't pull back," Athos says, crowding in and licking Treville's *cheek* — 

"*Fuck*, son —" 

Aramis licks his temple. "We will be your sons. Please... tell us how." 

"I —" 

"Tell us what *you* need, Daddy," Porthos says, and licks Treville's *mouth*. 

Treville *shudders* — 

Squeezes his *eyes* shut — 

And Aramis cups Treville through his breeches, finding him hard, wet, *ready* — 

Treville *grunts* and opens his eyes — 

And Porthos grins. "Tell us *how* you need it, eh?" 

"Tell us *everything*," Athos says, and if he sounds a *bit* like he's interrogating one of their *targets* — 

Well, it just makes Treville flush and lean in. 

Sniff Athos's *mouth* — 

"Oh... sir. I should... wash my mouth." 

"No. You shouldn't," Treville says. "You smell like — taste like — blood. And your brothers," he says, and pants — 

And pants *into* Athos's mouth as he *takes* it in a kiss — 

A wet and hungry and — 

And Aramis already knows what Treville's kisses feel like. What their *father's* kisses feel like — 

(Not all of them, son. And — call me exactly what you *want* to call me. What you *need* to call me. I can't take anything other than that. And that goes for all of you. *Please*,) Treville says — 

*Daddy* says, because there's something warm about the way Porthos says it, something so — 

So *thrilling* about remembering growing up in Madame Margaud's with his mother, watching the older boys sell themselves, watching them climb on their clients' laps and call *them* Daddy — 

And Daddy is *humming* into Athos's mouth — 

Laughing and — 

Licking. 

Licking *out* of Athos's mouth and then all over Athos's *face* — 

"Oh — *sir* —" 

Licking with a *long* tongue — 

(You wear far less perfume than your brother, son,) Daddy says, and keeps *licking*, moving down to Athos's throat and shoulders. (Kindly allow me to *enjoy* that.) 

Porthos laughs hard. "I can't help picturing a *giant* dog doing that..." 

(That... can be... mm. *Arranged*, son,) Daddy says, and licks up to Athos's ear — 

Rumbles — 

Athos *shivers* — 

And Daddy licks and licks and — 

Rumbles and *grips* Athos — 

Grips him through his *breeches* — 

Athos *groans* — 

His eyes are dazed — 

He's licking his lips and staring at nothing in this *cellar* — 

"Well, I think we've lost them, love," Porthos says, and laughs. 

"I believe this is so," Aramis says, and gently slides his hand to Daddy's hip — 

Squeezes gently — 

Daddy rumbles *more* — (I'll never be far, boys...) 

Aramis shivers and releases Daddy — and sniffs and licks his damp fingers — 

"Oh, *yeah*. Care to share, love?" 

Aramis grins. "Always with my Porthos," he says, and offers his hand — 

Porthos cups his wrist and squeezes — "My Aramis..." 

"Yours," Aramis agrees. 

Porthos growls. "Tell me. Tell me how *long* you've wanted —" 

"I only refused you the *first* time because I feared... losing my place. Losing my chance to be a *Musketeer*." 

Porthos grunts — and frowns. "Aramis..."

Aramis smiles ruefully. "By the time I discovered for myself, with confidence, that Daddy was not that sort of Captain..."

"I'd stopped asking. I — did you really think I'd stopped *wanting* you? Stopped — bloody *hell*, Aramis, you live in my *dreams*." 

"And you live in *mine*, my Porthos, but — it was difficult — no. I will not make excuses. You are the braver man *always*, my Porthos —" 

"You got into a bloody carriage with a bloody Swiss undead woman!" 

(And then he put his cock in her,) Daddy says, helpfully. 

(And then, to cap the evening, he exchanged still other bodily fluids with her,) Athos says, helpfully. 

Porthos *snorts* — "Daddy, he's too coherent over there." 

"Mm, I —" And Daddy makes his tongue shrink again. "Right you are, son," he says — 

"Sir — *HNH* —" 

And Daddy's bite to Athos's throat does not appear to break the skin, but it *does* appear hard, *bruising* —

He's cupping and squeezing Athos's *arse* — 

He's *opening* Athos's breeches — 

"Right, they're fine," Porthos says. "*Why the sodding hell am I scarier than all that*?" 

"Because I am in love with you." 

Porthos pants and *squeezes* Aramis's wrist — 

Stares into Aramis's eyes — 

"Love..." 

Aramis nods, pushes closer — 

"Wait — just a tick," Porthos says, and licks Aramis's *palm*, from the heel to the tips of his middle two fingers — 

"Oh —" 

And then he *sucks* those two fingers *in* — 

Licks them and *moans* — 

Tastes *Daddy* on him — 

(That's filthy, boys. I love you madly.) 

(Thank you *very* much, Daddy. In case you haven't caught him out at any point, Athos likes tossing himself off hard and *slow* —) 

"Oh — *fuck* — Porthos, that's when I'm thinking about *you*," Athos says, and *huffs* — 

Porthos tugs Aramis's fingers out of his mouth. "Well, what do you do when you think about *Daddy*?" 

"*Drink*." 

Daddy laughs into Athos's *neck* — 

He's still *biting* — 

"Harder — please, *harder* —" 

Daddy growls and *breaks* the bite — 

"No —" 

"Shh," Daddy says, yanking Athos's *head* back and biting — most of the front of his throat. He — 

"Oh. *Shit*," Porthos says, and laughs. "Are you cutting off his *air*?" 

(I absolutely am, son. He doesn't get to breathe until he tells me how *I* should stroke his beautiful cock.) 

(God — *God* —) 

Aramis shivers and grins. "It is proper for a father to provide discipline..." 

Porthos snickers. "Oh, yeah. We are deeply wayward young men." 

(Fuck — he — *fuck* —) 

Aramis and Porthos look down — and Daddy is trailing just his fingertips along Athos's cock, lightly and gently and — 

"Mm. What if I do that to *you*, love?" And Porthos grins at him. 

"I would be very sad, my Porthos." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "Sad...?" 

Aramis nods solemnly. "I never wish to hurt you, you see." 

Porthos snickers hard and hauls Aramis in by his grip on Aramis's wrist — 

He wraps his other arm around Aramis's back — 

And he lets his eyes slip half-closed and *nuzzles* Aramis, drags their faces together, kisses only *occasionally* — 

Bites Aramis's *lips* — 

"Love you..." 

"I am yours, *yours*," Aramis says, and cups Porthos's hips, squeezes, pulls back enough *at* the hips to open their breeches — 

"Oh, *there's* an idea," Porthos says, grinding their beards together and reaching down to *help* — 

"Please, yes — yes —" 

"You want me to touch your cock, love?" And Porthos is speaking into Aramis's *mouth* — 

"*Yes* —" 

"You want me to do it *hard*?" 

"Please, please, I like to be *hurt* —" 

(So do I! *Please*!) 

(Hmm. Using Aramis to answer my questions... Should I allow that, boys...?) 

Porthos laughs. "That's more than I've gotten out of him about his cock in a *year* of trying, Daddy." 

Daddy rumbles a laugh around Athos's *throat* — 

Athos groans and *bucks* — 

(I'll be merciful, then. This time,) Daddy says, and squeezes *viciously* hard — 

(*Yes*!) 

And gives Athos a hard, fast, *twisting* stroke that makes him shake — 

Makes him reach out to *clutch* Daddy — 

Makes his mouth fall open in a silent, wide-eyed *scream* — 

He's flushed so *dark* — 

His eyes are so — so hazed-*over* — 

(That's right, son. Just take it...) 

(My. My *God* —) 

(It won't stop. Not until you spend...) 

(I — I —) 

(Maybe I won't stop even then, mm? Maybe I'll stroke you *through* your spend — and beyond — so you won't be able to soften. So you'll stay hard for me...) 

(For — I —) 

(For *me*.) 

Athos's *knees* buckle — 

Daddy *catches* him and *holds* him, by the hip and by the cock and by the *throat* — 

(Sir — s-sir —) 

(Should I let you breathe again, son...?) 

(Nn — nnn...) 

(Get a little... sip?) And Daddy strokes faster, *harder* — 

Athos is *pumping* into his *fist* — 

(Or do you like being helpless for me. Being... just a little small...) 

Athos gasps and gets nothing — 

Athos shudders and clutches Daddy *harder* — 

(Don't — don't let me — I can't think!) 

(Shh. You don't have to. Just take it. Let your father have *all* the responsibility...) 

(*Fuck* — *sir* —) 

(You will not *curse*.) 

And Athos goes *rigid* — 

Wild-eyed and *trembling* — 

His scents *deepen*, deepen so — 

There is such sweetness, such — 

Aramis *needs* —

He pulls away from Porthos at speed and drops to his *knees* in front of Athos — 

"What — love —" 

He opens his *mouth*, he's so hungry, he needs, he *needs* — 

"Oh, fuck — oh, fuck, love, that's so *hot* —" 

And Athos is spending on him, in him — 

Daddy breaks his bite to *aim* — "There you go, son. Take it all. Take everything." And he licks his lips and *pants* — 

And Athos is gasping and shivering, gasping and *groaning*, gasping and *spurting*, again and again, and his mind is taken up with colours and heat — and the need to be on his *knees*. 

Aramis takes his spend and — no. He takes Athos's cock *in*, the head and a bit more, Daddy is holding the base — 

He suckles — 

He *sucks* — 

Athos *shouts* — 

But there's no more. 

There... 

Aramis *whimpers* and pulls *back* — 

Whimpers more — 

He did not realize he would want — 

That he would *hunger* for — 

Aramis blushes hard and looks down. 

"Oi, love, it's all right —" 

"It truly is, son," Daddy says, and he cups Aramis's face with the hand he'd had on Athos's *cock* — 

Tilts Aramis's face *up* — 

Even though Aramis *resists* — 

"Shh, none of that," Daddy says, and they're looking into each other's eyes. Daddy is smiling softly — 

Athos is still *panting* — 

*Blinking* — 

And Porthos cups the back of Aramis's neck. "Steady, love. It's all *right*. You — you *needed* that spend, right?" 

"It — it seemed — I was so *hungry* —" 

"You're going to be hungry for spend, the blood that comes from a woman's monthlies... that's just how it works, son," Daddy says, and strokes Aramis's cheekbone with his rough-callused thumb. "You didn't — technically — *need* it after the feasting you've been doing lately, but you're always going to want it. And you're young. Infants *never* have control over their hungers, son. You couldn't get Porthos off the nipple until he was falling *asleep* —" 

"Uhh..." 

"— but that's neither here nor there. If you ever *do* let yourself get hungry, son? *Watch* yourself around whorehouses." 

Aramis *stares* — 

Athos touches his tongue to his upper lip — 

And Porthos *guffaws*. "*Again*, this isn't *new* —"

"*Porthos*!" 

"Come over here and suck my cock, love. We *know* you need it."

"Oh —" And Aramis *shocks* himself with a *growl* — 

"*That's* right," Porthos says, stepping back a little — a *little* — and *presenting* his thick, beautiful cock. 

He — 

Aramis moans and *shuffles* closer on his knees — 

"That is —" Athos growls. 

"Mm. I see I didn't *have* to keep stroking you to keep you from getting soft," Daddy says with a laugh.

Athos huffs — "I — simply present me with the sight of — oh, his mouth —" 

"Fuck — *fuck*, so *cool* —" 

Aramis *groans* — 

Panics — 

What if Porthos doesn't *like* — 

Aramis licks frantically — 

*Squeezes* Porthos's hips — 

Pleads up into his eyes — 

"What — oh — oh, fuck, love, I couldn't pull out if you *paid* me, if you — fuck, can you take more?" And Porthos is panting, licking his lips — 

Shuddering and panting *more* — 

Staring *hungrily* and *hopefully* into Aramis's eyes — 

Aramis groans and gulps and gulps and *takes* — 

"*Fuck* — *Aramis*. I want — I want to *break* everyone you did this for, I want — oh, fuck — I want to watch you doing this to Athos, to Daddy —" 

"In that order, son? Because..." 

Porthos laughs *breathlessly* — "Here — c'mon, both of you help me hold him *still*." 

Aramis groans in his *chest*. He can't — 

He can't *focus* properly — 

He is so *hard*! 

"You want that, right, love? You want to be *controlled*." 

(Yes! *Yes*! Please use me, hurt me, *lead* me —) 

"NNH — *got* it," Porthos says, and his big hands are in Aramis's hair — 

And Daddy and Athos are gripping Aramis's *shoulders* — 

Daddy is also gripping his *throat* — 

"Oh, that's hot, that's so *hot* — I — are you ready, love?" 

(*Please*!) 

Porthos groans and *grips* Aramis's hair — "Wanted this — *all* of this —" He pulls out and *shoves* in — 

Aramis's cock *jerks* — 

"Just tell me if it's too *much*," he says, and shoves in *again*, *again* — 

Aramis shakes his *head* — 

"I don't — I don't think you should *do* that, love," Porthos says, growling and grinning and *pausing*. "Switch hands with me, Daddy." 

"With pleasure, son," Daddy says, and now *his* hand is in Aramis's hair — 

And Porthos is *squeezing* Aramis's throat — "*You* know how to talk to me, love." 

(I am *yours*!) 

"Then *take* me," Porthos says, and shoves *in* again, shoves *deep*, shoves in so *hard* — 

Again — 

Again and *again* — 

Aramis can't *move* — 

Aramis can't — all he can *do* is take Porthos's cock, so big, so thick, so *long* — 

It goes so *deep* — 

He must stay *loose*, *open* — 

And just the *thought* of that makes him clench, swallow at the wrong time — 

Porthos bumps the back of his throat and *grunts* — "Open *up*, love —" 

(*Yes*, my Porthos, I'm sorry, I'm —) 

"Shh, 's all right, you didn't do wrong. You're just. Just hungry all *over*," Porthos says, and squeezes Aramis's throat *harder* — 

Fucks *down* into his throat — 

Takes — 

"Oh, fuck, love, you feel perfect, you feel so sodding —" Porthos growls and fucks him *faster* — 

Aramis can hear *Athos* swallowing — "I want that. I want that — very badly." 

Daddy tightens his grip on Aramis's hair. "From Porthos, son?" 

"From all of you," Athos says, and laughs hungrily, *grips* Aramis's shoulder. "Will this make you spend, Aramis? Will this — will you lose control?" 

And Aramis wants to *answer*, wants to give *detail*, but Porthos's rhythm is vicious, perfect, *hot* — 

His cock is so *hot* — 

So heavy on Aramis's tongue and *hot*, and Aramis's eyes are rolling back — 

His lashes are fluttering — 

"Oh, *good* boy, *good* —" 

"— keep taking it, son —" 

"— beautiful on your *knees* —" 

"— knot *aches* for you —" 

"— want to fuck you *violently* —" 

"— son, you sound just like your father..." 

"I." 

And Porthos is laughing even as he growls, even as he sweats and *slams* into Aramis's mouth — 

So hard — 

So good and *hard* — 

Aramis's cock is jerking over and over and — 

"Ah — *AHN* —" And Porthos pulls *out* most of the way and spills on Aramis's *tongue* — 

So hot, so *hot*!

Aramis slurps and suckles and laps, *takes* — 

"Oh, that's my hungry boy," Daddy says, petting him and rumbling — 

"Fuck — oh, *fuck*, love, just — just don't stop, don't bloody *stop* —" 

Aramis swallows and swallows and — 

It's gone. 

There's no *more*. 

He reaches up and *pumps* Porthos's balls — 

"*Shit* —" 

Daddy is laughing *hard*, but Aramis *needs* — 

"Fuck fuck *fuck* fuck *fuck* —" 

Aramis sucks and sucks and *tries* — 

And then Daddy pulls him *off* — 

Porthos staggers *back* several steps — 

Athos moves to steady him — "Are you quite all right?" 

Porthos laughs explosively. "Right, none of us are leaving this cellar until Aramis has sucked us all *dry*." 

Aramis blushes and *moans* — 

"Your planning is getting better and better, son," Daddy says, and steps in front of Aramis. "Open me." 

"I — I —" 

"Don't hesitate, son. Just take what you need." 

Aramis shivers and — "*Yes*, Daddy," he says, and opens Daddy's breeches at speed. 

And. 

His cock is big. 

Big like *Porthos's*, but *inhuman*. 

He had *felt* it last night, and even seen it in the memory Daddy had shared of making love with Porthos's mother, but this is his first chance to examine it *properly*.

To study the *redness* of it, the — 

The thickness of the *sheath*, so furry!

The sheer *size* of the *knot* — 

But. The tip is pointed. The tip is pointed and leaking, dripping so *quickly* and Aramis cannot *waste* —

Daddy *laughs* as Aramis takes him in, laughs so *softly*. "That's my good, hungry boy. That's — oh. Just suck it right down, son. Take... everything you need." 

Yes, yes, he will, he *will* — 

He will suckle and lap and slurp — 

Somehow, his mouth doesn't ache, at *all* — 

"My... my good boy is *strong* now. *Hard*." 

Yes, so hard, so — 

And Athos growls — "I can't — I can't only *watch* —"

"Yeah, get down there, brother. You should — you should nestle your cock right between Aramis's *cheeks* —" 

"*God* — *fuck* —" 

And Athos is behind him, clutching him, scratching him, stroking and squeezing and *enjoying* him — 

Athos is *pushing* between his cheeks with his hard, slick cock — 

Aramis wants to taste again! 

Again and again and — 

Athos growls and bites Aramis's *throat* — 

Aramis cries *out* around Daddy's cock — 

"Perfect," Daddy says, and pushes *deep* — 

"Oh, *fuck*, Daddy," Porthos says, and squeezes Daddy's shoulder. "He's got you? He's —" 

"He's *swallowing*. He's — oh, sons, my beautiful —" And Daddy growls *low* — 

Pulls *out* — 

Athos grips Aramis's *cock* — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

Daddy *shoves* in — 

Aramis gulps and groans and *shakes* — and groans more when Athos starts *thrusting* in his cleft, thrusting so hard and fast, so hard and slick — 

The head of his cock keeps *catching* on Aramis's *rim* — 

Aramis is panting for it, panting *around* Daddy's *cock* — 

And then Porthos is pushing on his jaw. "Close that mouth up, love. You know Daddy needs you to be good for him." 

Aramis closes his mouth *tight* — 

*Sucks* — 

Daddy growls and grinds — 

And grinds — 

And pulls out most of the way before squeezing his own *knot* — 

He *barks* — and his cock *spits* slick all over Aramis's *mouth*. 

Aramis moans and slurps and suckles and *fucks* himself on Daddy's cock, *takes* — 

"Oi, let me try that," Porthos says, and squeezes Daddy's knot himself — 

Daddy barks *twice* — 

His cock spits *more* slick — 

So salty and musky and *hot* — 

And Athos is *growling* into Aramis's throat, squeezing his cock and stroking, *working* — 

Using his *calluses* on Aramis and making it so good, so sweet, so — 

His hot *hand* — 

His hot body, sweaty and pressed *close* — 

His hot and jerking *cock*, and there's slick all over Aramis's *hole* — 

"Mayhap one of us should lick that up, love..." 

Aramis *groans*, slurps, *needs* — 

"Yes. You. *Do*," Daddy says, and thrusts in — 

In — 

Daddy starts fucking him, fucking him hard, raw, *fast* — 

He's so strong — 

He's so *rough* — 

Aramis's throat is getting *sore* and it's so wonderful, so perfect, so — 

So hot and sweet and *perfect* — 

Aramis leaves himself open for it, lets himself be *used* — 

(You are too beautiful for anything *else*,) Athos says, biting him harder and squeezing him *cruelly* — 

Aramis screams in his mind — he will *not* open his mouth again — 

"Oh, good boy, good *boy*," Porthos says, and he's petting Aramis, caressing — 

So *gently* — 

Even while Daddy is *reaming* him — 

Even while Athos is *stripping* his cock and — 

Oh — 

Oh, the slick, swollen tip of Athos's cock is pushing *in*, just a little, on every thrust — 

Aramis pushes *back* into it — 

He wants it, he *needs* — 

Athos cries out *harshly* into the skin of Aramis's throat and pushes *in*, just that little bit, just — 

So hot, so big — but there's no *pain*!

He makes Aramis feel tight, young, ready for so *many* uses — 

Aramis's eyes roll up — 

He's clenching and flexing over and over again — 

Athos is panting and shuddering and *groaning* — 

Clawing at Aramis's hip with his free hand —

"Aramis — brother — *brother*. You must *spend*," Athos says, and strokes him fast and wild and hungry, hungry for him, so good, so — 

And Daddy is panting and *growling*, holding Aramis's head still and *rutting* — 

*Using* — 

"You're — you're *mine*, son —" 

Aramis's cock jerks again — 

*Again* — 

"You're *all* of ours," Porthos says. "We're not letting you go for *anything*." 

Athos pants — "We won't let you off your *knees*." 

"*Fuck*, that's hot. That's —" Porthos growls. "Do you like that, love? Do you like the idea of spending the next *forever* on your knees for us?" 

Please please please *please* — 

"Say *yes*," Daddy says, and slams *in* — 

*In* — 

Yes, Daddy! Yes, my brothers! Yes, please, have me!

Daddy snarls and hauls Aramis's head *in*, holds his head *crushed* to his groin and ruts and ruts and — 

And Athos pushes in a little *deeper* — 

And Aramis begs and howls and *thanks* them, all in his mind, please please yes, always yes, please *yes*, and he's spending, bouncing on knees, sucking as hard as he can and *working* his arse around Athos's cock and only wishing he had another hole for Porthos to *use*. 

He should always be *used* — 

He should be put down in the dirt and — 

Athos gasps and *spurts*, filling Aramis's *arse* — 

The heat is *incredible* there!

Aramis can't hold back a *wail* as he spends *more* — 

"Oh, you're beautiful, love, so sodding —" 

And Daddy *snarls* and fills his throat again — 

Spurts and *howls* and pulls back to paint his mouth, to give, to *feed* — 

Daddy will always feed his *hungers* — 

Aramis whimpers and slurps and takes, suckles and takes, he is so *grateful*! 

Athos wraps his arms around Aramis's chest — 

Daddy is still spurting — 

Porthos turns Daddy's head and *kisses* him — 

Aramis's cock jerks again, spasms dry and thrilled even as *Athos's* cock spasms *wetly* *inside* him. 

It is... so good. 

So *good*. 

Aramis hums and keeps suckling.

Lightly. 

*Lightly*. 

His brothers and Daddy are all petting and caressing him — 

He is... replete. 

He is happy.

Porthos and Daddy pull back from each other, blinking slowly — 

Daddy smiles crookedly — 

Porthos smiles *filthily* — 

"My boys." And Daddy turns back to Aramis, pulling out. "You're feeling better, son?" 

"Yes, Daddy. I am much less hungry." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

Athos's *being* is a pause — 

And Daddy laughs. "Let me guess — you see Porthos getting good and hard again, and your teeth start getting ideas." 

Well... Aramis smiles ruefully and shrugs. "Yes." 

Daddy smiles gently and nods. "All is well, son. We'll all keep you fed. Won't we." 

"*Yes* —" 

"Happily," Athos says, kissing Aramis's ear. "Are you ready for me to pull out?" 

"I —" 

"I can't believe you just stuck it right *in* there." 

"There is no pain, my Porthos!" 

"I — hunh. None at all?" 

"No!" 

"Going from what I know of the various species of blood-drinkers, there probably *would* be pain if Athos actually fucked him that way —"

"Right, yeah, 'course —" 

"— but he also might enjoy it," Daddy says, and smiles wryly. 

Aramis blinks — 

Considers — 

"I believe," Athos says, and pulls out *slowly* — 

"Ohn —" 

"I believe that I would *not* like to experiment that way." 

"I —" 

"Yeah, love. That's a bit — uh. I mean, we can try not stretching you too much, but..." 

"My Porthos — " 

Daddy ruffles Aramis's hair — 

"*Daddy* —" 

"There'll be other games the whole family can play *without* descending into atavistic horror, son. Now up you come. There's a rapidly cooling meal waiting for the *rest* of us.

It is true that he must allow his *family* to eat, as well. 

He can work on their disturbing unwillingness to stretch the boundaries of their lovemaking later. 

Daddy barks a laugh — 

"Love. We all *heard* that," Porthos says, and wipes himself down with a wet linen. 

Aramis beams. The mental communication will make the work they all must do go much faster.


	15. Definitely adjust the person to fit the plan. That is *absolutely* how it works.

Porthos pushes back from the table and lifts his wine to his lips. He sips, savors rather than drinks, and that would tell Aramis all he needed to know about the quality of the vintage if he couldn't smell it for himself. 

Athos smiles at Aramis wickedly — and *knocks* his wine back. 

"I saw that, Athos," Daddy says, pushing back from the table himself and crossing his legs. 

"He has to maintain those alcohol levels at this point, Daddy. There could be... uh. Dangerous imbalances, if he doesn't." 

Daddy snorts. "Or he might not be able to give Aramis a tipple tonight?" 

"Or that, or that —" 

Aramis blushes — and leans over to kiss Athos's cheek. 

*Athos* blushes — and fills his glass again. 

Daddy shakes his head at all of them. 

Alaire had had the table set with Daddy's place at the head, Porthos's place at his right hand, and Aramis and Athos at his left. 

Aramis likes this thing very much — 

(As do I,) Athos says, and drinks. 

"So," Porthos says. "What *is* the plan, eh? What are you going to *do* with us?" 

Daddy looks down for long moments... but there's a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "Aramis found his control sooner than I thought he would — and better." 

"*Daddy* —" 

"This is no slight to you, son. Your Hélène didn't *quite* set you up to fail, but blood-drinkers who want to actually make *certain* that their offspring survive and thrive? Stick around." 

Aramis blinks. "I..." 

"Do think about that. More to the point, I put very intense temptation in your path in the form of your brothers," Daddy says, and *looks* at him. "*I* knew exactly how you felt about them." 

"You bloody *what*?"

"I'll let you punch me for that again in just a few minutes, son —" 

"Yes, you bloody *will* —" 

"— but wait a moment. Please," Daddy says, and looks at *Porthos*. 

Porthos frowns and leans back. 

"Thank you." He turns to Athos. "I ask for your patience, too, son." 

"One question, sir. Are you about to say that you *intended* Aramis to turn the both of *us*?" 

Aramis *grunts* — 

Porthos is *blinking* — 

"No, son. I didn't *intend* that — but I did plan for it." 

"Uh. What the sodding hell do *those* plans look like?"

"More and more permanent windowless lodgings for you boys, all over France. Night-missions and various raids and assassinations too dangerous — or impossible — for human operatives to take on. Missions with me — and Jason — for the *other* war I fight," Daddy says, ticking off points on his fingers. "Some few other things. The plan, as of now, is to make a *new* plan —" 

"Or... not?" And Athos turns to look at Porthos. 

Porthos shrugs at him. "It's a good plan, Daddy. Stick with it." 

Daddy blinks. 

*Aramis* blinks* — 

"Do you know the mechanism of... turning, Aramis?" And Athos raises his eyebrows. 

"I —" 

"Well, if he doesn't, Daddy does." 

"Boys —" 

"Oh, true —" 

"*Brothers* —" 

"I'm just thinking about that whole figure-out-how-to-kill-only-when-you-want thing." 

"*Yes* —" 

"Oh, hm, yes," Athos says, and leans back in his chair — 

"Yes, *think* for a minute, sons —" 

"I believe we'll want to hunt in our training clothes, rather than our leathers," Athos says. 

"Oh, *yeah*. That's brilliant, mate, yeah," Porthos says, and raises his eyebrows at Aramis and Daddy. "Now what were you two saying?" 

Athos looks at them, too. 

*Both* of their expressions are blandly attentive — except for the light in their eyes. 

The wicked, *wicked* — 

Daddy laughs hard, dragging a hand down over his face. "You boys are going to — well, you'll probably be the *undeath* of me before anything else, but —" 

Porthos snickers — 

Athos hums — 

And Aramis... sighs. 

He will miss the spend, but there is the near-guaranteed increase in violent sex to be considered. 

"Jason still spends, son. He tastes *wonderful*. Smoky."

Porthos *wheezes* — 

Aramis smiles, and kisses his rosary before tucking it away again. 

His relationship with his God may have become problematic, at best, but...

There truly is no telling what the future will bring. 

"That's right, son. Think positively," Daddy says, and smiles warmly.

"It rather suits you," Athos says, and removes his kerchief with teasing slowness. 

"You light the world, love," Porthos says, grinning and opening his collar. 

Aramis thinks briefly about mentioning how messy this process had become — 

"Oh, fuck," Daddy says, and laughs even harder. "You boys have me listening to my cock again. We're doing this in the *alley*, because we *like* my staff." 

"Right you are, Daddy," Porthos says, and they all stand — 

Aramis will teach his family about romance another time. 

They will certainly have enough of it.

end.


End file.
